MASTER 

NEGA  TIVE 

NO.  92-80575 


MICROFILMED  1992 
COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES/NEW  YORK 


as  part  of  the  .      r.    •    ^« 

"Foundations  of  Western  Civilization  Preservation  Project 


Funded  by  the  ^^^_ 

NATIONAL  ENDOWMENT  FOR  THE  HUMANITIES 


Reproductions  may  not  be  made  without  permission  from 

Columbia  University  Library 


COPYRIGHT  STATEMENT 

The  copyright  law  of  the  United  States  ~  Title  17,  United 
States  Code  -  concerns  the  making  of  photocopies  or  other 
reproductions  of  copyrighted  material... 

Columbia  University  Library  reserves  the  right  to  refuse  to 
accept  a  copy  order  if,  in  its  judgement,  fulfillment  of  the  order 
would  involve  violation  of  the  copyright  law. 


A  UTHOR : 


DEAN,  AMOS 


TITLE: 


HISTORY  OF  EUROPEAN 
SOCIETY  AND... 


PLACE 


,  N.Y 


DA  TE : 


1876 


COLUMBIA  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARIES 
PRESERVATION  DEPARTMENT 


Master  Negative  # 
P_'1PH3S-L 


BIBLIOGRAPHIC  MICROFORM  TARGET 


Original  Material  as  l-ilmed  -  Existing  Bibliographic  Record 


103 

D34 


n 


Restrictions  en  Use: 


TECHNICAL  MICROFORM  DATA 


FILM     SIZE: 3£-^_:n REDUCTION     RATIO: jJA 

IMAGE  PLACEMENT:    lA   ^    IB     IIB 

DATE     FILMED:_iL-_L^lil INITIALS__^_'A^. 

FILMED  BY:    RESEARCH  PUBLICATIONS,  INC  WOODBRIDGE,  CT 


Rf-7^ »  k  «rW4iili-^ 


C 


Association  for  Information  and  image  IManagement 

1 1 00  Wayne  Avenue.  Suite  1 1 00 
Silver  Spring.  Maryland  20910 

301/587-8202 


n 


Centimeter 

1         23456789        10 

lllMlMlllMllllllllllilllMlllllllimllMllmillllllM^ 


12       13       14       15    mm 


"■''"■■■' ""'"■■'" 


Inches 


rTT 


m 


TTJ 


2  3 


1.0 

m  2.8 

1^^  \p' 

I.I 

^  m 

IX 

1.25 

1.4 

2.5 


2.2 


2.0 


1.8 


1.6 


llllllllllll 


TTT 


IH 


UMlUllliiU 


MnNUFRCTURED   TO   flllM   STRNDflRDS 
BY   fiPPLIED   IMPGE,     INC. 


-^frnffmimf 


■» ,  liiiiiii 


°'"'  '  M^nbia  college  library 

A«  ana  49th  St.  New  YorK. 
Madison  Av.  antt  *>J^"  " 


y,.,,-,/..//-.-""'"/-""-''""*"'""""""^ 


Siif'fff'f  ^'^' 


Onfa^f 


Subject  I\o.  '   • 


\\ 


\?S' 


i' 


H  ISTOR  Y 


( »  F 


\ 


EUROPEAN  SOCIETY 


\  N   1> 


t 


Hl.liVlHXTS  OF  ITS  I'lllLOSOl'llV, 


•.  V 


fi 


AMOS   DEAN,   LL  D 


.1  ()  E  L     -M  I    N  S  K  L  I. 


flBSS*'-^ 


•mam^fm 


\  II    m  III 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

European  Society. 
Society  as  it  existed  among  the  Early  European  Races, 


Page. 
11 


Society  as  it  existed  in  tlie  Middle  Ages  and  under  tlie  Feudal 
System, 43 


Society  as  it  existed  in  the  Age  of  Chivalry, 
Society  as  it  existed  in  the  Age  of  the  Troubadours,  - 


55 

72 


Society  as  it  has  developed  and  is  developing  itself  in  the  dif- 
ferent European  Nations, 80 


/ 


7 


/ 


f 


■-% 


o 

'4j 


00 


CHAPTER  II. 

Elements  of  Philosophy  in  Modern  Europe. 

Scholastic  Philosophy, '      234 

Transition  from  the  Scholastic  to  the  Modern  Philosophy,  -     253 

Modern  Philosophy  —  Bacon, 270 

Results  of  the  Baconian  Philosophy  —  Hobbes,  Locke,  -  -     287 

Outgrowth  of  the  Baconian  Philosophy  —  Materialism:  Hart- 
ley, Darwin,  Condillac,  Helvetius,  Holbach,  Cabanis, 
DeTraccy.     Skepticism :  Berkeley,        -        -        -         -         303 


\l 


70071 


I 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


Rationalistic  Pliilosopliy— Descartes,  Malebranche,  Spinoza,  - 

Skepticism  —  Hume  —  Monadology  —  Leibnitz,  - 

Common  Sense   Philosophy  —  The    Scottish  School  —  Reid, 
Stewart,  Hamilton, 

Phrenology — Gall,  Spurzheim,  Combo,    -        -        -         - 

Critical  Philosophy  —  The  German  School  —  Kant,       - 

Idealism — Fichte, 

Pantheism  —  Schelling,  Hegel, 

Mysticism  —  Jacobi.     Realism  —  Herbart, 

Eclectic  Philosophy — Cousin, 

Positive  System  of  Philosophy  —  Comte,  -        -        -        - 

Index, -        - 


Page. 

317 
332 


347 
369 
383 
399 
414 
449 
465 
484 
513 


HISTOKY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


CHAPTER  I. 


EUROPE^ ITS  SOCIETY. 


Society  is  founded  upon  the  agreeable.  It  is  embodied 
in  the  manners  and  customs  of  a  people.  It  culminates  in 
the  principles  of  politeness.  Its  mission  is  to  gratify  the 
social  instinct. 

The  very  existence  of  society  presupposes  the  fact  of 
order.  Human  propensities  and  passions,  and  even  senti- 
ments, must  first  be  subjected  to  the  restraint  of  law,  before 
society  can  even  be  rendered  possible.  That  law  must 
possess  sufficient  strength  to  impose  proper  limits  upon 
their  exercise;  and  then  society,  with  all  its  convivialities 
and  bland  exhibitions,  is  like  the  flame  that  glows  on  the 
summit  of  the  volcano,  whose  rock-ribbed  sides,  represent- 
ing tlie  force  of  law,  stand  a  perpetual  guard  keeping  within 
their  proper  bounds  the  fearful  elements  of  commotion 
that  rage  within.  Thus  the  element  of  government  must 
precede  that  of  society  in  those  successive  elemental  deve- 
lopments that  make  up  the  record  of  civilization. 

The  illustration  just  referred  to  may  still  further  serve 
our  purpose.  The  flame  and  substances  issuing  from  its 
crater  indicate  two  facts: 

1.  The  nature  and  character  of  those  molten  masses 
that  roll  and  rage,  and  boil  within. 

^  2.  The  actual  condition  and  state  of  activity,  at  any  given 
time,  of  those  liquid  masses,  as  to  their  being  violently 
agitated,  or  in  a  state  of  repose. 

VI]  1 


■'¥ 


■,&>«^ 


2  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 

Thus  society,  as  it  gathers  up  all  the  law,  will  permit  of 
the  exhibition  of  propensity,  passion,  and  sentiment;  will, 
as  she  exhibits  herself  to  us  at  different  times,  proclaim  the 
true  nature  and  character  of  those  internal  hidden  forces 
and  powers  of  action,  which  the  law,  at  times,  tinds  it 
hard  to  control.  And  so  also  will  she  enable  us,  at  any 
given  period  of  time,  to  understand  the  then  state  and  con- 
dition of  thos^  forces  and  powers,  in  respect  of  their  activity 
or  repose. 

Again,  the  volcano  finds  in  its  crater  a  safety  valve, 
through  which  a  portion  of  tho^e  fiery  elements  seek  their 
vent,  and  without  which  ihe  stout  mountain  sides  could 
not  keep  imprisoned  its  fierce  and  terrible  inmates.  And 
so  may  society  be  regarded  as  the  safety  valve  of  every  age 
and  people,  through  which  those  propensities,  passions  and 
sentiments  find  their  natural  means  of  escape,  which  might 
otherwise  endanger  the  existence  of  every  social  and  politi- 
cal fabric.  Thus  society,  while  it  evidences  the  existence 
and  activity  of  those  energetic  forces  that  are  inherent  in 
human  nature,  serves  also,  at  the  same  time,  the  purpose  of 
a  safety  valve  to  prevent  their  restrained  action  from  the 
production  of  hurtful  eftects. 

But  society  is  not  alone  the  offspring  of  propensity,  pas- 
sion, and  sentiment.  Its  sources  lie  deep  among  the  fun- 
damental facts  of  man's  individual  being.  It  gathers  up  its 
strength,  and  receives  its  supplies,  from  every  active  power 
of  his  nature,  whatever  its  ofiice,  whether  to  think  or  to 
feel.  While  the  intellect  is  shaping  its  conceptions,  and 
giving  form  and  definiteness  to  its  ideas,  the  mirthful  may 
be  impressing  them  with  its  own  laughter-loving  qualities, 
or  the  ideal  hanging  around  them  its  spell  of  beauty. 

Society  is  an  instrument  that  vibrates  to  all  tones,  l^ow 
it  kindles  at  the  voices  of  gayety  and  gladness,  lighting  up  its 
torch  at  the  fires  of  a  rejoicing  heart;  anon  it  sinks  into 
gloom  and  sadness,  covered  with  the  mantle  of  mourning 
and  the  weeds  of  woe.  IN'ow  it  is  an  inhabitant  of  earth, 
with  earthly  facts  for  its  basis,  and   earthly  fancies  for 


<r* 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY.  3 

its  adornment;  then  it  penetrates  the  depths  of  man's 
spiritual  nature,  and  evokes  from  them  modifications  of 
thought  and  feeling  that  are  not  of  this  world.  While  at 
times  it  is  free  and  open  as  the  day,  at  others  it  seeks  the 
veil  of  mystery,  and  claims  acquaintance  with  the  un- 
known. It  presides  over  marriage  with  its  song  and 
dance;  over  the  pastimes  of  childhood  with  its  happy  faces 
and  joyous  hearts ;  over  the  sports  and  convivialities  of 
middle  age,  with  its  fullness  of  health  and  strength;  over 
the  graver  socialities  of  more  advanced  life,  with  its  lines 
of  care,  its  results  of  experience,  and  its  wealth  of  wisdom ; 
and,  at  last,  with  its  funereal  torch,  throws  its  glare  over 
the  inanimate  body  as  it  sinks  to  its  final  resting  place. 

Thus  it  is  that  society,  in  all  its  different  phases,  reveals 
to  the  outward  world  what  had  its  birth  in  the  inward. 
All  the  inner  promptings  of  our  nature,  all  the  thoughts, 
feelings,  instincts,  propensities,  passions  and  sentiments, 
whose  ceaseless  action  goes  to  make  up  the  history  of  our 
inner  life,  and  which  do  not  endanger  the  existence  of 
society  itself,  will,  in  some  form  or  other,  become  revealed 
to  the  outward  world  under  the  auspices  of  society.  And 
this  revelation,  carefully  noted,  will,  at  any  given  epoch, 
constitute  society  a  very  excellent  barometer,  to  determine 
what  are  the  workings  of  the  inward  man,  what  the  then 
condition  of  civilization  itself. 

It  must  not,  however,  be  understood,  that  the  law  is  the 
only  restraining  power  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  the 
interior  communings  of  the  soul  and  mind,  from  passing 
into  outward  act  and  show.  There  are  conservative  forces 
even  in  society  itself,  that  bring  about  the  same  result. 
Society  has  everywhere  its  own  code  of  laws,  although 
they  may  vary  essentially  among  diflerent  nations  and 
peoples.  It  has  also  its  own  peculiar  sanctions  by  which 
its  laws  are  enforced.  These  consist  in  the  approvals  it 
bestows  upon  the  obedient,  and  the  blasted  name,  and 
sometimes  utter  exclusion,  which  awaits  those  who  are 
guilty  of  a  violation. 


*»l..>«l 


-.«     J--.M-    t^ 


4  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 

t 

t 

In  the  history  of  society,  especially  of  the  Eiiropeau, 
that  of  the  female  se^  will  be  largely  included.  It  is  in 
this  element  that  this  sex  finds  its  appropriate  place  in  the 
history  of  civilization.  The  nature  and  the  endowments 
of  woman  eminently  fit  her  for  a  commanding  position  m 
the  higher  and  more  refined  circles  of  society.  She  has 
usually  a  correct  moral  feeling,  a  great  susceptibility  to 
enjoyment,  strong  feelings  of  affection,  a  love  of  approval 
and  a  desire  of  pleasing  others,  united  with  a  vivid 
imagination,  a  happy  fiicility  of  observation,  and  a  ready 
and  discursive  intellect,  which  eminently  fit  her  for  the 
regulation  and  government  of  society.  It  has  hence  re- 
sulted that  in  all  the  civilized  countries  of  Europe  she  has 
either  actually  presided  over  it,  or  taken  the  lead,  in 
its  varied  developments.  Her  faultless  taste  and  natural 
tact  find  here  the  materials  which  can  give  them  constant 
employment.  Were  religion,  society,  and  art  annihilated, 
the  mere  woman  would  have  little  to  do  with  civilization, 
and  her  fate  would  be  indeed  deplorable.  But  in  each  of 
these  she  is  fitted  largely  to  participate,  and  thus  to  play 
no  inconsiderable  a  part  in  the  onward  progress  of 
civilization. 

The  development  of  the  social  instinct  is  modified  by 
the  action  of  several  causes.  One  of  these,  and  perhaps 
the  most  important,  is  climate.  This  operates  as  a  modi- 
fier of  society  in  two  ways  : 

1.  By  the  direct  influence  it  exerts.  This  is  primarily 
upon  the  physical  organization,  and  through  that  upon 
the  mental  and  moral.  This  fact  becomes  tlie  most  clearly 
revealed  when  we  look  upon  men  in  the  different  zones, 
the  frigid,  temperate  and  torrid.  Like  all  the  other  pro- 
ductions of  nature  the  race  presents  its  varieties  in  differ- 
ent zones.  These  varieties  are  the  most  manifested :  1. 
In  their  form  of  body.  2.  In  their  capacity  for  endurance. 
3.  In  the  varieties  of  temperament.  4.  In  their  intellect- 
ual, social  and  moral  developments.  The  most  perfect 
men,  those  who  have  swayed  the  world,  have  always  been 


I  . 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY.  5 

found  in  the  northern  temperate  zone.  They  have  con- 
trasted strongly  with  the  man  of  the  torrid  zone.  To  the 
former  have  belonged  strength,  deliberation,  reflection,  a 
persistency  in  the  pursuit  of  their  objects,  a  perseverance 
of  effort  through  all  opposing  obstacles,  and  a  great  coolness 
and  calculation  in  their  loves  and  hatreds.  The  latter 
have  possessed  less  power  of  endurance ;  are  quick,  hasty 
and  excitable;  are  less  steady  and  constant  in  their  course; 
their  intellect  possesses  less  of  depth,  their  powers  of 
imagination  are  larger  and  more  vivid ;  their  susceptibility 
to  pleasure  and  pain  greater;  and  their  passions  ever  liable 
to  burst  forth  into  terrible  activity. 

Know  ye  the  land  where  the  cypress  and  myrtle 
Are  emblems  of  deeds  which  are  done  in  their  clime, 
Where  the  rage  of  the  vulture,  the  love  of  the  turtle, 
Now  melt  into  sadness,  now  madden  to  crime, 
'Tis  the  land  of  the  east,  'tis  the  clime  of  the  sun. 

The  soul  is  there  stirred  to  its  inmost  depths  by  its  loves 
and  hatreds,  and  jealousy  is  a  passion  of  fearful  activity. 
So  thoroughly  is  love  there  aeclimated,  that  it  has  the 
reputation  of  always  and  everywhere  being  a  "  torrid  zone 
to  the  human  heart." 

2.  The  climate  also  exerts  an  indirect  influence,  which  in 
the  end  is  perhaps  equally  important  in  its  results.  The 
colder  climate  lays  upon  man  the  heavy  demands  of  labor. 
The  earth  produces  less  spontaneously  than  in  warmer  cli- 
mates. Men  are  more  under  the  necessity  of  attending  to 
seed-time  and  harvest.  The  demand  for  food  cannot  be 
satisfied  without  labor.  And  food  is  required  to  be  of  a 
difterent  quality  from  that  which  will  satisfy  in  the  torrid 
zone.  It  must  be  stronger,  more  concentrated,  possessing 
in  a  higher  degree  those  elements  that  contribute  largely 
to  nutrition,  growth,  and  strength. 

Other  demands,  also,  are  about  equally  as  imperative. 
Substantial  buildings  as  a  shelter  from  the  cold  of  winter, 
and  warm  clothing  as  a  protection  from  the  inclemencies  of 


\ 


I 


I 


6  HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 

the  weather,  imposes  the  necessity  for  hibor  beyond  the 
mere  supply  of  food.  Under  the  pressure  of  all  these  de- 
mands, the  internal  energies  of  man's  nature  are  roused 
into  activity.  Resistance  is  to  be  overcome,  obstacles 
surmounted,  the  wonder-workings  of  industry  to  be  exhi- 
bited, and  all  these  affect  the  man,  his  qualities,  manners, 
habitudes,  and  character.  The  sterner  virtues  have  their 
growth  or  outcrop  in  the  man  of  the  temperate  north.  The 
spirit  of  personal  liberty  is  there  nourished.  Patriotism 
prevails,  because  one's  country  is  there  his  own  by  reason 
of  the  labor  he  has  expended  in  its  reduction,  and  his  own 
participation  in  its  institutions. 

Society  is  greatly  influenced  by  the  varying  pursuits  em- 
braced in  the  industrial  element.  Tlie  different  kinds  of 
industry  exert  each  a  difierent  influence  upon  man  as  a  social 
being.  The  agricultural,  the  mechanic,  and  manufacturing, 
and  the  commercial,  each,  obviously  surrounds  the  man 
with  different  influences,  aflecti ng  all  his  associations,  and 
varying  his  social  manners  and  customs.  In  old  countries 
society  has  been,  for  ages,  in  the  process  of  stereotyping; 
each  successive  repetition  only  fixing  more  permanently  the 
general  result.  The  tendency  is  to  run  into  a  state  very 
greatly  resembling  that  of  caste  among  the  eastern  nations. 
The  son  follows  the  occupation  of  the  father ;  not  as  in  the 
east  from  a  political  and  moral  necessity,  but  because  such 
is  the  usual  and  customary  mode,  and  selection  is  made  of 
that  in  preference  to  any  other.  Thus  to  all  appearance  he 
is  entirely  free,  and  yet  the  force  of  circumstances  would 
hardly  permit  him  to  do  otherwise. 

This  succession  of  the  son  to  the  occupation  of  the  father 
tends  to  the  perpetuation,  in  the  same  classes,  of  the  same 
forms  of  society.     Each  class  has,  in  some  respects,  its  own 
manners  and  customs,  which  run  down  through  generations  . 
and  centuries  with  very  little  variation. 

Society  has  also  been  essentially  modified  by  the  reli- 
gious element.  This  modification  has  been  eflected  in  two 
ways : 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY.  7 

I.  By  its  direct  eftectupon  thehuman  soul.  Pure  religion, 
in  its  simplicity  and  grandeur,  and  considered  as  an  element 
of  power  alone,  imparts  to  the  human  soul  a  vitality,  an 
energy,  a  strength  of  moral  purpose,  an  ability  to  do  or 
suffer,  which  without  it  would  never  be  possessed  or  mani- 
fested. These  run  into  and  essentially  qualify  all  that  goes 
to  constitute  character.  They  breathe  a  living  power  into 
society  itself,  and  animate  its  forms  as  with  a  new  life. 

It  is  the  special  province  of  religion  to  awake  in  the  silent 
depths  of  the  soul  three  wonderful  powers  :  faith,  hope,  and 
love ;  and  these,  once  in  action,  and  properly  directed,  exert 
a  transforming  influence  upon  the  character.     The  more 
strength  those  three  great  powers  can  gather  in  their  legiti- 
mate exercise  upon  the  deep  things  of  God,  the  better  are 
they  qualified   to   take  hold  of  earthly  objects  and  push 
them  forward  with  energy  and  success.     And  this  they  do 
for  the  reason,  that,  once  in  activity,  and  their  quenchless 
fires   kindled   upon   the   altar  of  eternal  truth,   they  are 
likely  to  carry  into  all  their  spheres  of  action  the  same 
power,   energy  and  success.     This  is  strongly  exemplified 
in  the  history  of  the  English  puritans.     Stiff  and  uncourtly 
in  their  manners;  little,  if  at  all,  given  to  mere  matters  of 
amusement,  regarding  society  itself  rather  as  a  means  for 
the    accomplishment  of  something   beyond,    than  as   an 
end    to   satisfy  by   the    enjoyment   it   could    bring;  they 
pursued  their  own  aims  and  ends    with  directness,  per- 
severance,  and  success.     The  high-toned,  stern  religious 
character  has  always  displayed  itself  more  or  less  strongly 
in  the  social  manners  and  customs,  thus  modifying  more 
or  less  essentially  the  society  of  the  people. 

2.  In  the  second  place,  it  exerts  indirectly  a  modifying 
influence  upon  the  character  and  society  by  the  forms  and 
ceremonies  it  introduces,  by  its  various  rites  and  observ- 
ances. The  more  these  are  multiplied,  and  rendered 
attractive,  grand,  or  imposing,  the  greater  the  influence 
they  exert,  and  the  stronger  they  draw  and  concentrate 
upon   themselves   all  the  attention  and  energies  of  mind 


'/•  .1  / 


8 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


and  soul.  Thus  the  influence  of  pure  religion  is  little  felt 
in  the  midst  of  splendid  rites  and  a  gorgeous  ceremonial. 
The  soul  is  entranced  and  wholly  absorbed  in  these  out- 
ward performances  and  displays,  that  are  entirely  sensuous 
in  all  their  essential  characteristics.  Thus  society  is  here 
modified  by  the  forms,  ceremonies,  rites  and  observances 
introduced  by  religion. 

Another  modifier  of  societ}^  is  found  in  the  element  of 
government.  The  modification  here  is  produced  in  two 
ways : 

1.  By  the  greater  or  less  degree  of  freedom  enjoyed  by 
the  people.  In  the  same  proportion  in  which  civil  free- 
dom is  enjoyed  will  individual  dispositions,  instincts,  pro- 
pensities and  sentiments,  exhibit  themselves  the  most 
unrestrained,  and  all  the  forms  of  society  approach  nearer 
to  their  primitive  character.  But  wherever  despotism 
prevails,  whether  governmental  or  religious,  its  eftect  is  to 
repress  all  those  social  displays  that  have  anything  public 
in  their  character.  Society  bows  beneath  it,  and  seeks 
concealment  by  withdrawing  from  the  public  gaze. 

2.  The  second  modifying  influence  is  exerted  in  all 
those  governments  which  are  presided  over  by  courts. 
In  such  cases,  society  takes  its  lead  from  the  examples 
there  exhibited.  In  the  capital  and  court  all  the  elite  of 
the  nation  are  assembled.  Fashion  reigns  supreme.  The 
laws  of  etiquette  are  far  more  imperative  than  those  of  morals. 
Society  is  brilliant,  its  exhibitions  liighly  attractive;  but 
vice  and  immorality  are  too  frequently  concomitants,  and 
dissipation  of  every  possible  character  far  too  universally 
prevalent.  Thus  society  is  splendid,  Init  both  corrupt 
and  corrupting;  refining  the  manners  while  it  deadens  the 
heart ;  the  air  of  paradise  lying  around  a  pandemonium, 
and  the  spirit  of  love  and  of  beauty  hovering  around  those 
whose  dispositions  are  often  fiend-like  in  cliaracter. 

An  artificial  and  what  may  perhaps  be  termed,  a  highly 
refined  state  of  society  is  found  in  tlie  higher  circles  in 
old  monarchies,  and  in  those  which  approach  towards  the 


I   i 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY.  9 

pure  aristocratic  character.  In  republics,  more  especially 
in  those  partaking  largely  of  the  democratic  element,  the 
developments  of  the  social  instinct  are  plainer,  more  com- 
mon, more  natural. 

Society  is  also  modified  by  the  element  of  art.     The  pi^- 
valence  in  any  community  of  the  aesthetic  spint  will  exercise 
a  great  influence  in  refining,  idealizing,  and  intellectualizing 
mind  and  manners.     The  power  of  music  spell-binds  and 
softens   the  human  soul.     The  drama,  in  its  higher  and 
purer  revelations,  opens  up  a  thousand  sources  of  social 
enjoyment.      Most  of  the  forms  of  artistic  life  are  beauti- 
ful in  the  contemplation.     The  sphere  of  mind  is  enlarged 
by  the  marvels  of  art  that  are  presented  to  it.     Pleasures, 
beyond    those  of  mere  sense,    become  the   all-engrossing 
objects  of  pursuit.     Society,  as  a  consequence,  is  higher, 
but  not  always  purer  in  its  forms. 

The  social  instinct  is  entirely  human  in  its  character. 
The  beaver,  and  some  other  of  the  animal  species,  herd 
together,  but  men  only  associate.  A  purely  gregarious 
instinct  is  all  that  animates  or  influences  the  action  of 
animal  natures.  But  in  man  both  the  intellectual  and 
naoral  element  prevails,  and  this  places  society  at  an  infi- 
nite remove  above  the  gregarious  instinct. 

Society  everywhere  may  be  found  in  its  simple  element- 
ary state  in  the  family.     There  it  should  be  first  studied 
in  its  primal  home.     There  its  power  is  more  felt.     The  first 
natural  association  is  that  of  the  two  sexes.     Then  come 
the  other  ingredients,  the  smaller  responsibilities,  that  con- 
tribute to  make  up  the  family.     The  magic  circle  finally 
becomes  complete.     The  paternal,  filial,  fraternal  relations 
weave  around  each  heart  their  ever  enduring  bonds.     The 
family  becomes  a  small  community,  a  little  world  in  minia- 
ture.    Although  forming  but  a  single  element  in  a  larger 
society,  yet  it  is  complete  in  itself,  and  really  oflers  and'af- 
fords  far  more  of  social  life  than  is  elsewhere  to  be  found. 
The  tarther  back  we  trace  the  history  of  society,  the 
nearer  we  approach  the  primitive  ages,  the  more  strictlv 
VI]  2  ^ 


10 


HISTORY  OB^  CIVILIZATION. 


do  we  find  the  family  containing  and  limiting  within  its 
own  circle,  all  the  elements  of  social  life.  And  the  more 
strict  this  limitation,  the  purer  have  been  all  the  social 
developments.  In  the  family  the  tendencies  are  to  virtue ; 
and  society,  althougli  homely  in  its  aspect,  is  honest  and 
truthful  in  its  character. 

But  the  continuance  of  the  race  is  conditioned  upon 
passing  the  family  barrier.  New  families  must  be  founded 
which  serve  as  fresh  centres  of  social  life,  at  the  same  time 
that  they  answer  the  purpose  of  connecting  links  between 
those  older  families  from  which  the  founders  of  the  new 
were  derived.  Thus  in  early  patriarchal  times  we  find 
an  aggregate  of  families  united  together,  and  all  looking 
to  one  head,  the  venerable  patriarch.  This  is  a  widening 
of  the  family  circle,  the  creation  of  a  complex  family,  in 
which,  in  some  respects,  all  are  members  of  a  single  one, 
while  in  others  it  presents  the  features  of  families  united 
with  families. 

From  the  family  the  ascent  is  extremely  natural  and  easy 
to  the  clan,  tribe,  or  horde.  As  the  family  is  composed 
of  several  individuals,  so  each  one  of  these  is  made  up  of 
several  families.  Illustrations  of  these  may  be  found  in  the 
Scottish  clan,  the  German  tribe,  and  the  Tartar  horde. 

As  the  members  of  the  same  family  usually  bear  towards 
each  other  strong  resemblances  in  their  forms  and  charac- 
ters, so  the  families  composing  a  clan,  tribe,  or  horde,  are 
very  like  each  other  in  all  material  respects.  Their  asso- 
ciations have  always  been  with  each  other.  They  have 
come  up  under  the  same  influences,  have  participated  in 
the  same  sports,  and  have  mutually  moulded  and  modeled 
each  other's  character. 

From  the  clan,  tribe,  or  horde,  another  ascent  brings  us 
into  a  larger  association.  Each  one  of  these  uniting 
together  forms  a  nation  or  a  race  of  men.  Thus  we  have 
the  German  race  or  races,  the  Tartar  races  and  others,  all 
having  many  features  in  common,  and  yet  with  considera- 
ble diversity  among  the  different  tribes  or  hordes. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


^ 


The  history  of  European  society  could  be  much  more 
easily  studied  and  written  if  the  original  nations  and  races 
that  compose  the  present  population  of  Europe  had  re- 
mained pure  and  unmixed  to  the  present  time.  But  that 
is  far  from  being  the  fact.  Their  different  migrations  and 
settlements,  together  with  their  mixing  up  with  the  older 
population,  have,  in  many,  perhaps  in  most,  instances,  so 
intermingled  and  blended  them  together,  as  that  the  ori- 
ginal character  of  each  is  almost  or  entirely  lost.  Scarcely  a 
people  now  in  Europe,  unless  kept  separate  by  their  religion, 
who  do  not  exhibit  a  compound,  an  amalgamation,  of  seve- 
ral different  nations  or  peoples.  Witness  Italy,  Spain,  and 
even  France  and  Enorland. 

European  society  will  be  best  developed  under  the  follow- 
ing heads: 

I.  Society  as  it  existed  among  the  early  European  races. 

1.  The  Scandinavian,  the  Celtic,  and  the  Germanic. 

2.  The  Slavic. 

3.  The  Turkish. 

II.  Society  as  it  existed  in  the  middle  ages,  and  under 
the  feudal  system. 

III.  Society  as  it  existed  in  the  age  of  chivalry. 

IV.  Society  as  it  existed  in  the  age  of  the  troubadours. 

V.  Society  as  it  has  developed  and  is  developing  itself 
in  the  diflferent  European  nations,  as  : 

1.  In  the  Spanish  peninsula. 

2.  In  the  Italian  peninsula. 

3.  In  Switzerland. 

4.  Among  the  Germanic  nations. 

5.  In  France. 

6.  Among  the  Scandinavian  nations. 

7.  In  the  British  isles. 

I.  Society  as  it  existed  among  the  early  European  races, 
1.  The  Scandinavian,  the  Celtic,  and  the  Germanic;  these 
are  all  regarded  as  different  branches  of  the  same  great 
family  of  nations.     Original  differences,  no  doubt,  existed 


I       y 


12 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


in  their  different  developments  of  social  life,  and  yet  the 
great  general  features  of  their  character  were  essentially 
the  same.  For  all  practical  purposes,  therefore,  they  may 
be  considered  together. 

And  here  it  may  be  well  to  inquire,  in  the  first  place,  if 
there  be  any,  and  what,  leading  feature  in  the  character 
of  these  early  peoples ;  anything  which  can  be  regarded 
as  giving  a  tone  or  direction  to  all  their  principal  move- 
ments whether  industrial,  political,  religious  or  social. 
And  to  this  it  may  undoubtedly  be  answered  that  the 
martial  or  war  spirit,  witli  all  its  usual  concomitants, 
appears  to  have  been  the  prevailing  one  through  all  the 
early  centuries.  As  occurs  among  all  primitive  savage 
people,  a  preeminence  was  only  to  be  gained  by  personal 
qualities.  The  children  of  the  chiefs,  and  all  others,  lived 
together,^  and  were  brought  up  under  the  same  influences, 
until  through  the  exercise  of  genius  or  the  display  of 
valor,  they  acquired  a  superiority.  Different  tribes  were 
constantly  bringing  their  rivalships  and  disputes  to  a  bloody 
arbitrament,  and  thus  opportunities  of  becoming  distin- 
guished in  war  were  frequently  presented.  These  nations 
knew  no  other  profession  than  that  of  arms.  If  a  tribe 
happened  for  some  time  to  languish  in  ease,  its  youthful 
heroes  sought  out  other  tribes  that  were  engaged  in  wars 
to  find  opportunities  for  displaying  their  valor. 

The  German  tribes  principally  carried  on  their  contests 
on  laud,  while  the  Saxons,  Danes  and  l!^orwegians,  fre- 
quented the  seas,  led  the  roving  life  of  the  Vikiugs,  and 
subsisted  upon  the  fruits  of  piracy  and  plunder.  All  were 
prodigal  of  life,  enterprising,  and  emulous  of  danger.  Their 
prejudices,  customs,  occupations,  amusements,  every  action 
of  their  lives,  bore  the  stamp  of  the  warrior.  In  times  of 
peace,  they  had  their  mock-battles,  reviews,  tournaments, 
and  wrestling,  boxing  and  racing  matches.^  Other  times 
they  spent  in  hunting,  public  business,  drinking  and  sleep- 


^ Stuart's  VieiD,S.    ^Mallet,  195. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


13 


<l 


ing.  Even  the  most  warlike,  when. nothing  was  present  to 
arouse  them,  passed  much  of  their  time  in  indolence,  feast- 
ing and  sleep. 

The  chase  probably,  next  to  war,  engaged  the  most  of 
their  attention.  They  were  also  addicted  to  games  of 
hazard,  especially  to  that  of  dice,  often  risking  their  liberty 
and  persons  on  the  last  throw.  They  were  hospitable, 
warm  in  their  attachments,  generous  in  their  sympathies 
and  gifts,  adopting  heartily  the  resentments  equally  as  the 
friendships  of  their  relatives  and  kindred.^ 

In  the  food  upon  which  they  subsisted  there  was  great 
simplicity.  It  consisted  principally  of  wild  apples,  recently 
killed  venison  and  curdled  milk.  They,  however,  delighted 
in  feasting,  when  intoxicating  liquors  were  used  in  excess. 
The  most  common  of  these  liquors  were  beer,  mead,  or 
wine,  which  were  drank  out  of  earthen  or  wooden  pitchers, 
or  horns  of  wild  bulls.^  The  Germans  were  accustomed  to 
consult  together  at  the  table  upon  their  most  important 
concerns,  such  as  those  of  peace  and  war,  and  the  election 
of  their  princes.  Here  also  were  formed  those  associations 
by  which  solemn  obligations  were  entered  into  for  mutual 
protection  and  defense  on  all  occasions,  to  revenge  each 
other's  deaths  at  the  hazard  of  their  own  lives.  Oaths  to 
this  effect  were  taken  and  renewed  at  these  festivals. 

The  mode  of  living  by  these  nations  was  not  in  cities,  or 
even  towns.  They  could  not  endure  contiguity  in  their 
dwellings,  the  bubbling  fountain,  the  extended  plain,  or  the 
beautiful  grove,  presented  attractions  which  the  man  of 
simple,  natural  tastes  could  not  resist.  The  idea  of  pro- 
perty in  land  had  not  then  been  born.  About  the  only 
product  of  the  earth  which  they  required  was  corn. 

In  their  buildings  they  used  neither  mortar  nor  tiles,  but 
only  rude  materials,  regardless  of  beauty  or  proportion. 
Some  spent  the  winter  months  in  caves,  in  which  they 
found  a  retreat  from  cold.^ 


'  Stuart,  4.    » Mallet,  196.    »  Tadtufi,  545. 


14 


HISTORY    OFCIVILIZATION. 


The  clothing  worn  by  the  Germans  consisted  of  a  loose 
mantle  made  fast  with  a  clasp  or  a  thorn.  This  was  their 
only  covering.  The  rich  wore  a  garment  drawn  so  tight 
that  the  form  and  limbs  were  clearly  disclosed.  The 
skins  of  wild  animals  were  frequently  used  for  clothing. 
There  was  very  little  distinction  in  dress  between  the 
two  sexes. 

Perhaps  the  strongest  contrast  that  presents  between 
the  German  and  Scandinavian  nations,  and  the  southern 
and  eastern  nations  of  the  world  is  to  be  found  in  the 
relations  of  the  sexes,  and  in  the  constancy  and  sterner 
virtues  of  their  women.  Modern  civilization  owes  much, 
if  not  all,  to  the  simplicity,  purity  and  virtue  exemplified 
in  these  relations. 

■  Monogamy  was  almost  universally  practiced  among  the 
German  and  northern  nations.  The  marriage  ceremony 
consisted  in  little  more  than  an  exchange  of  gifts.  The 
bride  brought  with  her  no  portion.  In  the  presence  of 
her  parents  and  relations  the  future  husband  tendered  a 
dowry,  which,  if  accepted,  the  match  was  approved.  The 
presents  were  substantial,  never  appealing  to  female  vanity. 
Oxen,  the  caparisoned  horse,  the  shield,  the  spear  and  the 
sword,  were  the  articles  presented.  She,  in  return,  made  a 
present  of  arms.  Thus,  in  the  character  of  the  gifts  inter- 
changed, is  furnished  the  intimation  of  the  kind  of  relations 
established.  The  yoked  oxen,  the  caparisoned  horse,  the 
arms,  all  serve  to  inculcate  the  lesson,  that  the  woman 
is  received  as  a  partner  in  toil  and  danger,  that  the  arts  of 
peace  and  the  dangers  of  war  are  to  be  enjoyed  and  dared 
together.  The  armor  she  receives  as  a  sacred  treasure 
to  be  transmitted  to  her  sons. 

The  marriage  tie  was  not  contracted  while  the  parties 
were  young  and  immature.  Both  parties  waited  to  attain 
their  full  growth.  The  bridegroom  must  first  leave  the 
house  of  his  father,  and  be  invested  with  arms.  Then  he 
became  a  member  of  the  state,  could  enter  into  contracts, 
and  among  others,  that  of  marriage.     Tlic  maturity  of  the 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


15 


parents  afforded   a  sufficient  guaranty  of  the  vigor  and 
strength  of  constitution  of  the  children. 

Celibacy  was  regarded  ds  disgraceful,  and  the  aged  were 
honored  in  proportion  to  the  number  and  the  merits  of  their 
descendants.^  The  mother  was  the  nurse  of  her  own 
children.  Her  companionship  with  the  stronger  sex 
was  such  among  the  Germans,^  that  she  was  admitted  into 
their  councils,  and  their  consultations  on  business  of  state. 
They  were  even  regarded  as  prophetesses  both  among  the 
Germans  and  Gauls,  delivered  oracular  information,  pre- 
tended to  cure  the  most  inveterate  maladies,  assume 
whatever  shape  they  pleased,  to  raise  storms,  chain  up  the 
winds,  travel  through  the  air,  and  perform  every  function 
of  the  fairy  art.  Thus  regard  was  had  both  to  their  ad- 
monitions and  answers.  The  same  feature  seems  to  have 
prevailed  among  the  Scandinavians. 

The  almost  constant  occupation  of  the  men,  either  in 
war  or  hunting,  left  to  the  women  the  acquisition  of  some 
branches  of  useful  knowledge.  They  studied  simples,  and 
the  art  of  healing  wounds.  They  always  dressed  the 
wounds  of  their  husbands  or  lovers.  They  were  also  gifted 
in  the  art  of  interpreting  dreams,  which  was  of  no  small 
consequence  in  a  superstitious  age. 

But  the  purity  of  life  led  in  the  marriage  state  was  of 
much  greater  consequence.  In  the  simplicity  of  their 
manners  was  found  a  preservation  against  vice  more  eftect- 
ual  than  the  laws  of  cultivated  states.  There  were  no 
allurements  of  public  shows  and  entertainments  to  relax 
their  virtue,  no  incitements  of  luxury  to  inflame  their 
desires  and  expose  them  to  corruption. 

In  some  of  the  German  states  it  was  unlawful  for  a 
widow  to  marry  a  second  husband,^  the  doctrine  being  that 
she  must  receive  one  husband,  as  she  had  done  one  body 
and  one  life,  and  could  entertain  no  thoughts  or  desires 
beyond  him.    All  such  preserved  the  honors  of  widowhood 


'Stuart,  20.    'Mallett,  200.    "" Stuart,  21. 


m .,_ 


[I 

1  - 


■T-^ 


■^•"^^■■■^ 


f 


j; 


16 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


unsullied,  and  even  continued  the  usage  after  settlements 
were  made  in  the  Roman  provinces. 

Thus  marriage  was  considefed  as  a  strict  and  sacred 
institution.  The  fidelity  of  the  married  woman,  and  her 
constancy  of  attachment,  rarely  ever  knew  any  exception. 
The  crime  of  adultery  was  seldom  heard  of,  and  when  it 
did  occur  its  punishment  was  severe  and  immediate,*  and 
was  inflicted  by  the  husband  himself.  He  cut  oft' her  hair, 
which  was  regarded  as  a  great  ornament,  divested  her  of 
her  garments,  and,  in  the  presence  of  her  assembled  rela- 
tions, expelled  her  from  his  house  and  whipped  her 
through  the  whole  village.  A  violation  of  modesty  was 
never  pardoned.  Chastity  once  prostituted  was  never 
forgiven.  In  the  absence  of  it  no  youth,  or  beauty,  or 
riches,  could  ever  procure  a  husband. 

The  children  were  reared  up  under  such  circumstances 
as  to  give  them  great  physical  perfection.  They  were 
subjected  to  no  restraint.  They  ran  about  naked,  and 
in  time  grew  up  to  great  strength  and  size.  The  son  of 
the  slave  and  the  cheiftain  were  brought  up  together. 
Until  the  age  of  manhood,  they  passed  their  days  alike, 
running  over  the  same  ground  and  mixing  with  the  same 
cattle. 

The  laws  of  hospitality  were  inviolable  among  the  Ger- 
mans. The  stranger  was  always  welcomed  by  the  master 
of  the  house  and  regaled  to  the  best  of  his  ability.^  If 
his  stock  fell  short,  he  conducted  his  guest  to  the  house  of 
his  neighbor,  where  could  be  found  a  more  abundant  table. 
No  invitation  was  necessary.  A  cordial  reception  was 
always  certain,  and  no  distinction  was  made  between  an 
intimate  and  an  entire  stranger.  Gifts  were  interchanged, 
the  departing  guest  receiving  as  a  present,  whatever  he 
desired,  and  the  host,  in  return,  expressing  his  desires  with 
the  same  freedom.  'No  obligation  was  thought  to  be  con- 
ferred or  incurred  in  the  giving  or  receiving  of  presents. 


^  Stuart,  Id,  20.    ^Tacitus,  551. 


Mm 


r 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


17 


The  first  thing  on  rising  in  the  morning  was  the  bath. 
The  next  was  their  morning  meal,  which,  having  com- 
pleted, they  proceeded,  completely  armed,  to  dispatch  the 
business  of  the  day.  Much  of  their  business  was  done  at 
their  convivial  meetings.  The  reconciliation  of  enemies, 
forming  of  fixmily  alliances,  election  of  chiefs,  even  ques- 
tions of  peace  and  war,  were  discussed  in  their  carousing 
festivals.  They  maintained  that  the  convivial  moment, 
when  the  mind  was  naturally  the  most  open,  was  the  true 
season  for  business.*  But  on  the  following  day  the  subject 
of  debate  was  again  taken  into  consideration,  and  decided 
upon ;  thus  having  the  benefit  of  being  debated  when  the 
mind  was  warm,  and  decided  when  it  was  cool. 

Their  public  spectacles  had  little  variety.     There  seems 
to  have  been  but  one  spectacle,  and  that  often  repeated  at 
their  meetings.     This  was  the  dance  of  a  band  of  young 
men  entirely  naked  amidst  pointed  swords  and  javelins. 
This  performance,  by  frequent  repetition,  became  an  art, 
which  was  executed  with  grace   and   elegance.     It   was, 
however,  a  voluntary  performance,  and  never  done  for  pay. 
All  the  German  nations  were  migratory  in  their  cha- 
racter.     The  tribe  or  state  would   take  possession  of  a 
certain  tract  proportioned  to  its  number  of  hands,  making 
allotments  to  individuals  according  to  their  rank  and  dio-. 
nity.2     The  land  was  abundant  in  quantity  and  a  partition 
was   easily  made.    The  ground  was  tilled  one   year  and 
allowed  to  lie  fallow  the  next,  a  sufiicient  quantity  always 
remaining  to  supply  the  demand  for  cultivation. 

It  only  remains  to  inquire  what  disposition  the  Germans 
and  northern  nations  made  of  their  dead.^  We  find  at  a 
very  early  period  the  practice  prevailing  among  the  north- 
ern nations  of  burning  their  dead  on  funeral  piles.  The 
ashes  were  afterwards  collected  in  an  urn,  or  small  stone 
chest.  Over  this  a  low  mound  not  more  than  a  yard  high 
was  raised. 


'  Tacitus,  I,  553.    « Idem,  555.    ^  Mallet,  209. 

VI]  3 


t 


18 


HISTOKY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Another  custom,  which  also  had  an  early  origin,  and  a 
very  general  practice,  was  that  of  burial. 

Sometimes  the  body  was  merely  covered  with  a  rude 
heap  of  stones;  at  others,  and  more  frequently,  it  was 
placed  in  a  species  of  vault  formed  of  loose  stones,  those 
outside  being  laid  up  in  regular  order.  These  are  more 
frequently  met  with  in  Korway,  and  seem  never  to  have 
been  covered  with  earth. 

When  a  person  of  rank  or  distinction  died,  a  high 
mound,  generally  termed  a  barrow,  was  raised  over  his 
remains.  This  barrow  burial  was  very  extensive,  being  not 
only  practiced  by  the  German  and  Scandinavian  nations, 
but  also  by  several  Slavic  and  Celtic  tribes-^  Barrows  are 
traced  from  the  eastern  shores  of  the  Black  sea  through 
the  steppes  of  Tartary  to  the  wilds  of  Silesia  in  a  north- 
easterly direction,  while  in  a  north-westerly,  they  stretch 
through  Eussia  and  northern  Germany  to  Scandinavia 
and  the  British  islands.  They  are  scarcely  to  be  found  in 
Austria,  Bavaria,  Wurtemburg,  and  Baden,  very  few  in 
Iceland  and  Norway,  more  in  Denmarlv,  and  the  most 
abundant  in  Sweden. 

But  the  dead  were  not  allowed  to  repose  alone  or  un- 
provided for.  The  poor  deposited  with  the  body  some  of 
their  most  .necessary  utensils  and  a  little  money.  With 
the  rich  and  noble  were  deposited  his  arms,  his  gold  and 
silver,  and  his  war  horse.  The  German  in  life  always 
prized  the  most  his  arms  and  his  horse.  These,  there- 
fore, he  was  the  most  desirous  of  taking  with  him  to  the 
spirit  land.  In  addition,  his  dependents  and  most  par- 
ticular friends  often  sacrificed  themselves  upon  his  tomb 
in  order  to  attend  his  shade  to  the  hall  of  Valhalla.  Those 
ancient  superstitions  still  retain  their  hold  upon  the  mind, 
and  the  Laplanders,  even  at  the  present  day,  provide  their 
dead  with  a  flint  and  everything  necessary  for  lighting 
them  along  the   dark  passage   through   which  they  are 

'Mallet,  213. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


19 


i- 


X 


1 
I 


111. 


doomed  to  wander  after  the  soul  has  become  separated 
from  the  body.^  Thus  almost  all  nations,  in  their  rudest 
state,  are  found  to  render  homage  to  the  great  idea  of  a 
continued  being  after  death  has  passed  upon  all  that  is 
mortal. 

2.  Society  as  it  exists  among  the  Slavic  races. 

These,  we  have  seen,  were  among  the  latest  born  of 
the  European  population.  The  Celtic,  Cimbrian,  Gothic, 
and  Teutonic,  or  German  races,  all  preceded  them  in  their 
entrance  upon  the  continent  of  Europe.  As  the  Slavic 
nations  were  the  latest,  hitherto  considered,  in  their  settle- 
ment, are  the  most  eastern  of  the  European  peoples  in 
their  location,  and  have  always  maintained  relations  more 
or  less  direct  with  the  eastern  world,  we  may  naturally 
expect  to  find  among  them  many  traits  of  eastern  charac- 
ter. In  fact,  very  many  of  their  distinguishing  character- 
istics are  still  Asiatic,  although  among  the  higher  circles 
may  be  found  much  imported  from  western  Europe. 

All  these  races  are  bound  together  and  subject  to  one 
political  dominion,  viz  :  the  Russian.  Along  the  immense 
frontiers  of  the  Russian  empire  are  scattered  more  than  a 
hundred  peoples,  speaking  a  hundred  different  idioms,^ 
while  the  Slavonian  or  Russian  race  alone,  occupying  the 
vast  interior,  number  some  fifty  million  souls.  Of  these, 
thirty-six  millions  inhabiting  Great  Russia,  speak  identi- 
cally the  same  language,  while  the  dialects  of  the  White 
Russians  and  of  seven  millions  of  Little  Russians  is  slightly 
different.^  Among  the  Great  Russians  also  prevails  the 
most  surprising  uniformity  of  manners  and  customs. 

It  is  curious  to  observe  here  how  the  patriarchal  principle, 
borrowed  from  the  east,  has  met  and  mingled  with  political 
principles  derived  from  the  west.  The  social  organiza- 
tion of  Russia  is  a  hierarchy,  every  step  resting  on  some 
patriarchal  power.     The  first, .  the  commencement,  is  the 


.^ 

'  * 


'  Mnlkt,  314.    "  Edcctic,  June,  1854,  836.    '  Idem.,  337. 


■.'i» 


20 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


family,  in  wliicli  the  flitlier  is  the  absolute  sovereign. 
Upon  his  death,  the  eldest  son  takes  his  place,  exercising 
the  paternal  authority.  The  flimily  property  belongs  in 
common  to  all  the  males,  the  assent  of  the  father,  or  his 
representative,  being  necessary  to  its  disposition/  This 
feature  alone  must  prevent  the  formation  of  any  landed 

aristocracy. 

E"ext  to  the  family,  we  have  the  village,  or  township, 
governed  by  an  elected  father,  or  starost.  His  power  dur- 
ing the  three  years  for  wliich  he  is  elected,  is  absolute. 
All  the  inhabited  and  cultivated  lands  of  the  village  are 
held  in  common  as  undivided  property.  The  starost 
divides  the  fruits  or  profits  of  the  whole  amongst  them. 

Again,  all  these  villages,  or  townships,  form  the  nation, 
a  nation  of  men  equal  among  themselves,  but  all  equally 
subject  to  the  chief  of  the  empire  and  the  race,  the  em- 
peror, autocrat  or  czar,  whose  authority  is  absolute, 
while  the  obedience  rendered  is  patriarchal  rather  than 
servile.  All  the  political  and  social  institutions  of  Russia 
are  governed  by  the  doctrine  of  passive  obedience,  which 
runs  through  and  pervades  all  the  relations  of  the  people 
to  the  state,  in  domestic  life,  and  even  in  the  avocations  of 
daily  business.  To  enforce  this  obedience,  whether  in  the 
army,  in  the  family,  among  nobles  and  serfs,  resort  is  had 
to  the  cudgel.  Everybody  beats ;  the  father  his  child,  the 
husband  his  wife,  the  landlord  the  peasant,  the  noble  his 
serf.  And  yet  all  this  without  any  breach  in  the  affec- 
tions, any  interruption  of  friendship,  and  without  the 
slightest  trace  of  ill-feeling. 

To  this  law  of  the  cudgel  all  Russia  seems  to  be  turned 
over  except  the  nobility,  and  one  of  their  special  privileges 
consists  in  exemption  from  it.  The  nobles,  altogether, 
form  a  pretty  large  class  of  society,  and  have  large  posses- 
sions ;  and  yet  having  no  corporate  existence,  or  tendency 
to  any  common  object,  they  have  little  esprit  du  corps,  and 


*  Eclectic,  June,  1854,  237. 


ft 
I 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


21 


do  not,  as  in  western  Europe,  constitute  a  powerful  aristo- 
cracy. 

One  of  the  peculiarities  of  Russian  society  is  the  serfdom 
that  there  so  generally  prevails.  The  number  of  Russian 
serfs  exceeds  the  whole  population  of  France  or  Austria,^ 
and  has  even  been  estimated  at  no  less  than  one-twentieth 
part  of  mankind. 

The  serf  is  the  absolute  property  of  the  master.  It  is 
out  of  this  large  body  that  new  recruits  are  obtained  for 
the  army,  a  certain  number  being  drafted  for  that  purpose 
every  year.  ISTo  serf  can  obtain  or  hold  property,  all  their 
earnings  legally  belonging  to  the  master.  His  body  is 
subject  to  the  master's  caprice,  and  the  use  of  the  cudgel 
or  whip  is  universal.  Even  the  virtue  of  the  female  serf 
is  wholly  within  the  master's  power.  In  regard  to  popular 
education,  there  are,  in  the  four  great  metropolitan  districts 
of  St.  Petersburgh,  Kieff,  Moscow  and  Curan,  one  hundred 
and  ninety  parochial  schools,  containing  in  all  seventeen 
thousand  five  hundred  and  eighty  students.  While  Russia 
contains  so  small  a  number  of  students,  she  contains  no 
less  than  one  hundred  and  thirty-four  thousand  five  hun- 
dred and  seventy-eight  priests  and  monks. 

The  charge  has  been  made  against  Russia  that  "  she 
draws  her  strength  from  the  resources  not  of  civilization, 
but  of  barbarism  ;  possessing  among  her  higher  classes 
just  as  much  knowledge  of  European  arts  and  civilization 
as  is  necessary  to  destroy  them ;  ^  and  in  her  lower  orders 
a  state  of  ignorance  so  dense,  and  of  opinions  so  degraded 
as  to  find  in  a  single  man  their  lawgiver,  their  sovereign, 
and  almost  their  God." 

The  Russians  possess  some  extent  of  imitative  skill,  but 
the  imitation  is  rather  of  results  than  of  the  power  that  pro- 
duces them.  Before  the  reign  of  Peter  I,  almost  every- 
thing in  Russia  was  Asiatic  in  its  character.  He  imported 
from  Europe  suiticient  civilization  to  gild  the  edges  of 
society,  and  perhaps  some  portion  of  its  surface,  but  the 


'  Edtctk,  Jniie,  1H54,  2ol).     -  Idem,  241. 


22 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


I 

if 
f 


Ir 


close  observer  could  still  detect,  beneath  all  this,  evident 
traces  of  the  Tartar  horde,  the  low  moral  level  of  a  half 
savage  people,  and  many  manners  and  customs  indicating 
the  small  advance  that  has  yet  been  made  in  any  of  the 

higher  arts  of  life. 

There  is  no  doubt  very  great  diversity  in  social  Ufe  in 
Kussia.  The  variation  in  climate  alone,  if  no  other  cause 
existed,  would  go  far  to  produce  such  a  result.  The  popu- 
lar ideas  as  to  the  climate,  the  habits,  and  customs  of  the 
people  are  chiefly  limited  to  the  capital  and  the  northern 
part  of  Russia.  But  as  regards  a  large  portion  of  Russia, 
especially  the  European  part  of  it,  it  lies  under  a  southern 
sun,  the  heat  being  almost  as  insupportable  as  that  of  the 
tropics,  and  the  character  of  the  people  so  influenced  by 
it,  as  that  their  manners  are  soft,  luxurious  and  free,  and 
just  as  open  to  sensuous  enjoyments  as  those  residing  in  the 
south  of  France,  or  even  in  the  Italian  peninsula. 

Another  cause  having  a  strong  operation  is  the  civil 
condition  of  Russia.  There  not  only  fails  to  be  a  homoge- 
neous people  through  her  vast  empire,  but  even  among  those 
who  are,  the  civil  distinctions  are  such  as  to  create  almost 
as  many  causes  of  separation  as  if  they  belonged  to  difi:er- 
ent  races  and  countries.  The  eastern  doctrine  of  castes, 
although  not  in  form  introduced  into  Russia,  is  yet,  to  a 
large  extent  felt,  and  its  disadvantages  realized  through 
the  Russian  dominions.  There  we  have  the  nobility,  the 
middle  classes,  and  the  peasantry  including  serfs. 

The  Russian  nobles  live  in  towns,  and  although  many 
of  them  have  country  residences,  yet  they  seldom  frequent 
them  except  for  a  few  weeks  in  the  summer.  They  have 
no  special  reverence  for  patrimonial  property,  and  hence, 
there  is  among  them  no  stabiHty  of  territorial  possession. 
The  neglect  of  the  rule  of  primogeniture,  and  the  adoption 
in  its  place  of  the  rule  of  equal  division  of  property 
among  all  the  sons  of  the  family,  prevents  the  continuation 
of  estates  in  the  same  family.  A  large  fortune  there 
rarely  ever  descends  to  the  third  generation. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


23 


The  Russian  nobles  are  notoriously  extravagant ;  culti- 
vating expensive  and  often  wasteful  habits.  These,  taken 
in  connection  with  the  removal  of  all  barriers  to  the  trans- 
fer of  property  by  sale  or  mortgage,  lead  to  the  frequent 
result  that  they  ruin  themselves  and  come  to  utter  desti- 
tution. 

The  Russian  peasants,  although  not  possessing  the  same 
muscular  strength  as  many  other  people,  are,  nevertheless, 
seldom  outdone  in  their  power  of  endurance  and  support 
of  fatigue.  The  Russian  soldier  is  probably  called  upon  to 
endure  greater  hardships  in  his  long  and  painful  marches, 
in  his  rigid  discipline,  his  hard  fare,  and  the  severe  cor- 
poral punishments  to  which  he  is  subjected,^  than  almost 
any  other  human  being.  Living  upon  dry  biscuit  he  may 
be  compelled  to  traverse  desert  steppes  in  which  there  is 
no  water,  or  to  winter  in  subterranean  huts  in  which 
there  is  no  fire.  So  also  the  amount  of  punishment 
undergone  by  a  criminal  often  almost  exceeds  belief. 
Their  strength  and  power  are  passive  rather  than  active, 
and  consist  more  in  endurance  than  in  the  production  of 
positive  results. 

An  accurate  idea  of  the  Russians  generally  cannot  well 
be  obtained  without  adverting  to  the  difference  between 
the  Great  and  Little  Russians.  The  latter  are  the  more 
ancient,  retaining  their  national  physiognomy,  being  dis- 
tinguished by  their  finer  features,  dark  and  hazel  eyes,^ 
loftier  stature,  and  more  harmonious  language.  The 
former  have  red  or  yellow  hair,  coarser  features,  and  a 
more  stupid  expression  of  countenance.  They  are  selfish, 
cunning  and  avaricious,  resorting  more  to  the  chicanery  of 
trade,  less  conscientious  and  more  punic  in  their  dealings. 
The  Little  Russians  are  more  indolent,  confiding  and 
generous,  caring  little  for  the  future,  never  laboring  except 
from  necessity,  and  trusting  their  affairs  to  the  manage- 
ment of  others. 


^  Malte  Brun,  vi,  581.    "^  Idem,  580. 


24 


HISTORY  OB^  CIVILIZATION. 


b 


1 1 


There  is  much  variety  in  the  characteristic  traits  of  the 
Russians,  but  most  of  them  have  white  teeth,  small  and 
dull  eyes,^  a  narrow  forehead,  and  a  strong  beard.  The 
hair  has  various  shades  of  color  from  dark  chestnut  to 
red.  The  Russians  have  quick  ears,  and  wliat  many  would 
not  be  led  to  expect,  are  alive  to  the  power  of  music. 
The  national  music  of  Russia  is  possessed  of  much  origin- 
ality and  beauty.  Their  popular  songs  are  pervaded  with 
a  plaintive  melancholy;  full  of  images  borrowed  from 
nature ;  and  mingled  with  superstitious  ideas,  and  breath- 
ings of  tender  sentiment.  Like  most  other  primitive 
people  their  conceptions  are  linked  with  external  nature. 
They  abound  in  comparisons  and  symbols.  The  nighting- 
gale  and  cuckoo,  for  instance,  are  the  compassionate  birds 
that  answer  to  their  griefs.  The  swallow  bears  their 
messages.^  The  rainbow  rising  over  a  dwelling  indicates 
the  habitation  of  a  betrothed.  The  moon  hides  itself 
for  sorrow  at  the  death  of  the  emperor.  The  field  over 
which  enemies  have  passed  bears  bitter  herbs.  The  warrior 
is  a  falcon,  the  girl  a  swan.  The  flowing  tears  are  rivers, 
the  falling,  simply  dews.  They  have  songs  for  love,  for 
war,  for  festivals,  and  occasions  of  tamily  rejoicing.  Songs 
for  many  of  the  callings  and  pursuits  of  life,  both  innocent 
and  criminal.     The  following,  for  example,  is  the  song  of 

the  robber.^ 

"  Make  no  sound,  my  little  green  forest;  my  mother,  do 
not  disturb  my  thoughts ;  for  on  the  morrow  I  must  go  to 
answer  before  that  terrible  judge,  even  before  the  tsar  him- 
self. 

"The  tsar  w^ill  address  himself  to  me,  and  he  will  say. 
Answer,  answer,  my  child,  son  of  the  peasant,  with  whom 
hast  thou  taken  up  the  life  of  a  robber  ?  Hast  thou  many 
companions  ? 

"  I  will  answer,  tsar,  my  hope,  tsar,  very  Christian,  I  will 
show  thee  all  the  truth.     Of  comrades  I  had  four:  the  first 


'Malte  Brim,  vi,  582.    ■'  K'kdk,  for  October,  1855,  812.    =*  I<km,  12. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


25 


•/I 


was  the  dark  night,  the  second  was  my  sharp  blade,  the 
third  my  good  horse,  the  fourth  my  well  strung  bow.  My 
messengers  were  the  barbed  arrows,  hardened  at  the  fire. 

"  Then  the  tsar,  my  hope,  the  tsar,  very  Christian,  will  say 
to  me,  '  Honor  be  to  thee,  my  son,  who  knowest  so  well 
how  to  steal  and  how  to  speak  ;  for  thy  reward  I  will  make 
thee  a  fair  present,  I  will  give  thee  a  palace  in  the  middle 
of  the  fields,  two  stakes  and  a  hempen  cord.'  " 

The  Russians  are  generally  very  superstitious,  their  su- 
perstitions mingling  with  all  their  family  rejoicings,^  and 
.  religious  practices,  in  the  daily  habits  of  private  life,  and  in 
all  situations  of  an  extraordinary  character.  They  believe 
in  sorcery  and  witchcraft,  in  the  influence  of  a  legion  of  su- 
pernatural beings,  and  in  the  virtue  of  various  talismans 
and  conjurations. 

Their  religious  songs  are  possessed  of  great  interest.  In 
one  of  them  to  the  book  of  the  dove,  the  holy  gospel,  the 
tsar  asks : 

"Whence  come  light,  the  beautiful  sun,  and  the  young 
moon  ?  Whence  come  the  multitudes  of  stars,  the  dark 
nights,  the  purple  dawns,  the  rushing  winds  ?  Whence 
comes  human  reason  ?  From  where  do  our  thoughts  reach 
us  ?  Whence  come  our  people,  our  hard  bones,  our  body, 
and  our  blood  ?  " 

The  book  answers : 

"  The  white  light  comes  from  God,  the  beautiful  sun 
from  the  face  of  God,  the  young  moon  from  his  bosom,  the 
myriads  of  stars  are  his  garments,  the  dark  nights  are  the 
eyelids  of  the  Lord,  the  purple  dawns  are  his  glances,  the 
strong  winds  are  his  breath.  Reason  comes  from  Christ, 
from  Christ  the  tsar  of  the  skies ;  thoughts  come  from  the 
clouds  of  the  sky,  people  from  Adam,  had  bones  from  stone, 
the  body  from  soft  earth,  the  blood  from  the  dark  sea." 

All  these  and  such  like  songs  are  recited  by  poor 
blind  people  from  door  to  door ;  by  aged  people  to  their 


1  Edecikfor  October,  1855,  816. 

VI]  4 


■^■"  ^t* 


'I    I 


26 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


families  assembled  round  the  stove  in  the  long  northern 
winter  evenings ;  by  the  young  men  at  the  festivals  ;  every 
little  circumstance  in  public  or  private  life  affording  an 
opportunity  for  their  use.  They  are  everywhere  entwined 
around  the  heart  of  the  people. 

A  strong  passion  for  song  prevails  among  the  peasantry,^ 
who  often  join  to  very  fine  voices  remarkable  executive 
powers.  It  is  not  unusual  with  them  to  engage  in  contests 
for  supremacy  in  this  exquisite  art,  and  on  such  occasions, 
the  power  of  music,  and  the  secret  charm  it  exerts  upon 
the  soul,  are  most  fully  displayed. 

The  Eussian  women,  even  in  the  northern  part  of  Russia, 
present  one  anomalous  fact  in  the  early  period  at  which 
they  mature.  They  are  marriageable  at  the  age  of  twelve 
or  thirteen,^  in  this  respect  almost  rivaling  India.  This 
premature  development,  however,  is  upon  mucli  the  same 
principle  as  that  invoked  in  the  case  of  the  hot-house  plant, 
the  severe  climate  being  counteracted  by  keeping  them 
during  the  winter  months  in  apartments  heated  by  a  stove 
to  a  vast  degree,  and  then  exposing  them  to  the  two  or 
three  summer  months  of  burning  heat.  Superadded  to  this 
is  the  use  made  of  the  warm  or  vapor  baths.  The  conse- 
quences of  this  premature  development  are,  that  the  firm- 
ness and  elasticity  of  flesh  so  essential  to  constitute  beauty 
are  wanting;  and  also  that  premature  development  is  ne- 
cessarily succeeded  by  premature  decay.  The  charms  of 
youth  soon  disappear,  while  the  indications  of  old  age  are 
early  exhibited.  There  are,  however,  some  other  causes, 
aside  from  those  just  enumerated,  which  may  conduce  to 
this  result.  The  principal  of  these  are  the  immoderate 
use  of  rouge  or  paint,  and  the  savage  treatment  they  ex- 
perience from  their  husbands.  In  this  latter  respect  the 
Slavonic  present  a  marked  contrast  with  the  Teutonic 
races.  The  lower  classes  of  females,  more  especially,  are 
in  Russia,  doomed  to  a  life  of  incessant  labor  and  liardship. 


'Eclectic,  October,  1854,  238.    "" Malte  Brun,  \i,  582. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


27 


Although  they  cannot  be  said  to  desire  beatings  and  stripes 
for  their  own  sake,  or  as  special  tokens  of  affection  from 
their  husbands,  yet  one  thing  seems  certain,  that  when  a 
man  ceases  to  beat  his  wife  it  is  a  sure  indication  either  that 
he  has  given  her  up  as  incorrigible,  or  that  he  has  so  wholly 
attached  himself  to  other  women  as  to  relinquish  all  con- 
cern about  her,^  and  his  domestic  affairs.  The  wife  of  a 
Russian  may,  therefore,  rest  assured  that  her  husband  no 
longer  loves  her  when  he  refrains  from  chastising  her. 

The  ceremonies,  both  of  marriage  and  of  burial,  have 
some  variety,  and  undoubtedly  differ,  to  some  extent,  at 
different  periods  of  time.  In  regard  to  the  former  it  has 
generally  been  customary  for  two  families  to  settle  an 
alliance  before  the  parties  have  ever  seen  each  other. 

Before  the  match  is  finally  agreed  upon,  the  bride  is 
critically  examined  by  a  council  of  elderly  matrons,  with 
the  view  of  discovering  whether  any  bodily  defects  exist, 
and  if  so,^  to  determine  if  possible  and  prescribe  what  will 
remedy  them.^  The  bride  on  her  wedding  day  is  crowned 
with  a  garland  of  wormwood,  to  imply  the  bitterness  of  the 
married  state.  When  the  marriage  ceremony  by  the  priest 
at  the  altar  is  concluded,  the  clerk  or  sexton  sprinkles  on  her 
head.a  handful  of  hops,  expressing,  at  the  same  time,  a  wish 
that  she  may  prove  to  be  as  fruitful  as  that  plant.  The  cus- 
tom has  been  in  some  places  observed  for  the  bridegroom 
to  desire  the  bride  to  pull  off  one  of  his  buskins,  informing 
her  that  one  of  them  contains  a  whip,  and  the  other  a  jewel 
or  a  purse  of  money.  She  takes  her  choice.  If  she  finds 
the  purse,  she  interprets  it  as  a  good  omen  ;  but  if  the  whip, 
it  is  regarded  as  an  unhappy  presage,  and  she  immediately 
receives  the  lash  as  a  specimen  of  what  she  is  to  expect. 

After  the  decease  of  a  person,  the  first  care  is  to  close 
the  eyes  and  mouth,  and  the  next  is  to  lay  out  the  body 
and  to  wash  it  with  water,  after  which,  the  priest  is  sent 
for,  who  prays  over  the  corpse,  purifies  it  with  incense,  and 


^ Meiners,  i,  160,    ^Marriage  Rites,  98, 99.    ^ Matte  Brun,  vi,  583. 


3C=B 


H 


I  ! 


28 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


sprinkles  it  with  holy  water  until  it  is  consigned  to  the 
dust.^  He  writes  a  passport  for  heaven,  which  is  signed 
by  the  bishop,  and  if  he  be  absent,  by  some  other  dignitary. 
The  paper  is  put  into  the  bier  between  the  hands  of  the 
deceased.  The  last  ceremony  is  the  kiss  given  by  the 
priests  first,  and  then  by  the  relations  and  friends ;  some 
kissing  the  body  and  some  the  coffin.  The  lowering  of 
the  coffin  into  the  grave  is  the  signal  for  loud  cries  and 
horrid  yells.  The  attendants  then  return  to  the  house  of 
the  deceased  and  greatly  mitigate,  or  wholly  drown,  their 
excessive  grief  at  a  great  feast,  which,  by  the  higher  orders, 
is  kept  up  for  some  forty  days.  But  during  all  this  period 
of  festivity  the  priest  is  delivering  prayers  over  the  grave ; 
the  dead,  it  is  imagined,  being  consoled  by  these  exorcisms, 
are  enabled  to  arrive  with  less  iatigue  at  the  end  of  their 
long  journey. 

In  Eussia,  a  dismal  lent  is  succeeded  by  the  great  festival 
of  the  resurrection.  The  sudden  advent  of  this  festival 
drowns  the  fasting  and  mourning  in  mirth  and  amusement. 
The  large  bells,  for  which  the  Russians  seem  to  have  a 
special  passion,  and  which  are  the  largest  and  deepest  toned 
in  the  world,  ring  out  their  solemn  peal  in  sounds  resem- 
bling the  rolling  of  distant  thunder,  while  the  brilliant  glare 
of  many  thousand  wax  lights,  and  the  dazzling  splendor  of 
the  clerical  costume  add  to  the  novelty  of  the  scene.  Every- 
where joy  reigns  supreme,  and  the  loud  cry  of  Christos 
voskress,  Christ  is  resuscitated,  resounds  throughout  the 

empire. 

In  the  Russian  costume  there  is  great  variety.  The  pea- 
sants in  Great  Russia,  in  the  winter,  wear  sheepskins  de- 
scending to  the  middle  of  the  leg,  with  cloth  stockings  and 
bark  shoes,  a  round  hat  in  summer,  and  a  fur  cap  in  winter. 
"What  would  appear  singular  in  so  cold  a  climate,  the  neck 
is  always  bare,  but  it  seems  not  to  be  unfavorable  to 
health. 


^Malte  Brun,  vi,  583. 


!• 


I 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


29 


The  dress  of  women  is  considerably  various,  but  the  most 
costly  ornaments  are  reserved  for  the  head.  A  band 
adorned  with  pearls,  or  precious  stones  of  different  colors, 
and  resembling  a  tiara,  or  open  crown,  is  worn  about  No- 
vogorod,  while  the  peasant  girls  in  the  western  provinces 
wear  a  fillet  studded  with  paste  or  mock  pearl.  A  bonnet 
rising  perpendicularly  m  the  form  of  a  crescent,  prevails 
in  Oka  and  the  neighborhood  of  Kasimow.  In  Little 
Russia,  nets,  ribbons  and  flowers  are  bound  round  the  head, 
a  chain  is  suspended  from  the  neck,  and  red  boots  are  worn 
upon  the  feet. 

The  houses  of  the  peasants  are  all  built  on  substantially 
the  same  plan.  The  inner  court  forms  an  oblong,  and  is 
surrounded  by  sheds,  a  hay  loft  being  erected  at  one  ex- 
tremity, with  a  kitchen  garden  extending  beyond  it.  The 
building  materials  are  trees,  laid  horizontally  above 
each  other,  the  interstices  being  filled  with  moss.  The  fa- 
mily chamber  is  on  the  second  story,  the  ascent  to  which  is 
by  a  stair  or  ladder.  A  fourth  part  of  the  room  is  taken  up 
by  a  stove. 

The  furniture  is  made  up  principally  of  wooden  wares 
and  earthen  pots,  a  wretched  bed  or  pallet,  with  many 
figures  of  the  saints. 

The  Russian  villages  are  generally  composed  of  one  street 
with  houses  on  each  side.  Their  length  is  sometimes  very 
considerable.  All  the  houses  have  the  same  shelving 
roofs  projecting  considerably  beyond  the  body  of  the  house, 
and  the  same  fa9ade  rising  in  a  cone  towards  the  top. 
The  villages  belonging  to  the  emperor  look  much  better 
than  those  which  belong  to  the  nobility. 

One  remarkable  custom  of  the  Russians  is  deserving  of 
notice,  and  that  is  their  use  of  baths.  It  is  customary 
with  the  Russians  of  all  ranks  to  use  the  steam  bath  at 
least  once  a  week.  There  are  no  public  baths  except  in 
cities;  but  in  villages  every  family  have  their  own  small 
baths,  which  are  constructed  at  some  distance  behind  their 
houses,  to  prevent  accidents  from  fire. 


30 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


31 


III 


I  u      A  ;    'III 


The  public  baths  in  cities  are  situated  upon  the  banks 
of  rivers,  from  which  they  receive  their  supplies  of  water 
by  means  of  swing  buckets.  Each  public  bath  is  divided 
into  two  partitions,  one  for  the  men  and  boys,  the  other 
for  the  women  and  girls.  The  bathing  rooms  are  heated 
by  ovens,  the  temperature  often  rising  as  high  as  from  104° 
to  120°  of  Fahrenheit.  The  cavities  of  the  ovens  are  filled 
with  iron  balls  or  stones,  which  are  heated  to  a  red  heat, 
and  upon  which  every  five  minutes  water  is  thrown  in 
order  to  fill  the  bathing  room  with  steam.  By  this  means 
the  temperature  is  occasionally  raised  as  high  as  131°.  The 
bather  lies  upon  an  elevated  bench  some  six  or  seven  feet 
from  the  floor,  and  two  or  three  feet  from  the  ceiling, 
where  the  steam  and  heat  are  most  concentrated.  There 
he  is  soaped  and  rubbed  with  bundles  of  birch  twigs  with 
their  leaves  on.  Many  persons  on  quitting  the  bath  plunge 
into  the  adjoining  river,  or  even  roll  in  the  snow  when  the 
thermometer  is  10°  below  zero.  How  this  may  be  done 
consistent  with  health  it  is  hardly  possible  to  determine,  un- 
less we  suppose  that  the  functions  of  the  system  become  so 
intensified  in  their  action  through  the  cftect  of  the  heat 
and  friction,  that  the  sudden  change  to  the  cold  water  or 
snow,  is  scarcely,  if  at  all,  perceptible. 

The  Russians  in  their  industry  have  not  even  yet  arrived 
at  the  principle  of  the  division  of  labor.^  Different  arts  are 
exercised  by  the  same  individual.  In  Moscow  and  other 
large  towns  will  be  found  that  curiosity,  the  house  market. 
This  is  held  in  a  large  square  in  the  suburbs,  where  a  vari- 
ety of  materials  for  building,  and  houses  wholly  made  of 
wood,  are  usually  exhibited.  The  purchaser  has  only  to  re- 
pair to  the  spot,  examine  the  quality  of  the  wood,  state  how 
many  rooms  are  required,  and  conclude  the  bargain.  The 
seller  removes  and  raises  tlie  building  on  the  spot  desig- 
nated by  tlie  purchaser.  Thus  a  house  may  be  purchased, 
transported,  erected  and  inhabited  all  within  a  single  week. 


% 


ft" 


*  MalteBnni,  vi,  580. 


f'lf 

1 


Such  dwellings,  however,  are  not  durable,  seldom  lasting 
much  time,  and  easily  demolished  in  a  few  hours.  The 
Russian  villages  are  generally  composed  of  wooden  dwell- 
ings, and  hence  when  a  fire  occurs  it  is  very  destructive. 

Another  curiosity  in  the  way  of  market  is  that  of  frozen 
provisions.  Soon  after  the  commencement  of  winter,  the 
farmers  kill  their  cattle,  pigs,  and  poultry,  all  which  they 
subject  to  the  freezing  process.  The  same  also  applies  to 
fish  and  game.  All  these  frozen  carcases  are  poured  into 
St.  Petersburgh.  They  are  brought  from  the  Frozen  ocean 
on  the  north,  and  from  the  borders  of  the  Caspian  sea 
on  the  south.  The  great  market  opens  just  before  the 
Christmas  holidays;  it  covers  several  acres  of  ground,  and 
from  the  piles  of  animals,  birds  and  fish,  with  their  several 
skins,  feathers  and  scales  on,  presents  altogether  a  most 
ludicrous  a2:>pearance.  The  average  price  is  about  thirty 
per  cent  cheaper  than  if  killed  fresh,  and  is  about  equally 
as  good. 

Another  assemblage  sometimes  met  with  in  Russia  is  the 
village  council.  This  is  an  assembling  together  of  the 
elders  and  inhabitants  on  certain  occasions,  such  as  levying 
recruits  among  the  young  men  of  the  village,  regulating 
the  taxes  payable  to  the  landlord,  and  such  like  matters. 
The  meeting  is  called  the  peace  meeting,  and  is  held  in  the 
high  street  of  the  village.  The  oldest  man  presides,  and  is 
distinguished  from  the  rest  by  a  white  wand  fresh  cut  from 
the  hedge,  and  stripped  of  its  bark.  He  selects  his  locus 
standi  close  by  a  new  laid  cow's  dung,  and  sticks  the  lower 
point  of  his  wand  into  it.  Then  the  council  are  in  readi- 
ness for  the  transaction  of  business. 

The  Russians  have  many  amusements.  Among  these 
are  swings  which  are  made  to  turn  upon  a  cylinder  between 
two  pillars.  Eight  poles  are  fixed  crossways  in  the  cylinder, 
between  each  pair  of  which  is  fixed  a  seat  for  two  persons. 
These  poles  are  turned  round  either  by  men  or  machinery. 
Another  speci  es  of  swing  is  turned  round  horizontally  upon 
a  cylinder  which  stands  upright  in  the  centre.     These,  to- 


ill 


'I 


s 


oZ 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


I-I 


it 


Wl 


I . 


I 


if 


,1  • 
> 


I 

I 


i 


11 


getber  with  booths  of  strolling  players,  tumblers,  exhibitions 
of  wild  beasts,  the  dress  carriages  and  gay  liveries  of  court, 
nobility  and  gentry,  form  a  great  part  of  the  amusement 
of  the  Easter  week. 

"We  have  before  noticed  the  strong  love  for  music  which 
animates  even  the  Eussian  peasantry.  There  is  a  curious 
kind  of  music,  or  rather  musical  instrument,  which  seems  to 
be  peculiar  to  Russia.  This  is  horn  music,  and  the  instru- 
ment a  horn.  It  is  a  perfect  living  organ,  where  every  pipe 
or  tone  is  sounded  by  one  man,  who  cannot  produce 
any  other  but  that  one  individual  tone  on  his  horn.  A 
complete  band  of  horn  musicians  consists  of  near  forty  per- 
formers, never  less  than  twenty-five,  who  sound  the  com- 
pletest  symphonies  of  every  kind  with  admirable  skill  and 
accuracy. 

The  Russians  have  boxing  matches,  wliich  they  perform 
with  large  stiff  leather  mittens.  They  appear  to  fight 
without  guarding  the  body,  and  aim  their  blows  at  ran- 
dom. Not  unfrequently  a  considerable  number  fight  on 
each  side,  and  it  often  proves  fatal  to  some  one  or  more  of 
the  party. 

Another  amusement  of  w^hich  the  Russians  arc  extremely 
fond  is  the  horse  race.  Many  keep  race  horses  which 
they  run  both  on  wagers  and  for  pleasure  on  the  ice  of  the 
river  Neva.  A  place  opposite  the  imperial  palace  is  railed 
in  for  the  purposes  of  these  races.  It  presents  a  splendid 
scene,  and  is  attended  by  crowds  of  spectators  on  foot,  in 
coaches,  and  sledges,  more  especially  on  Sundays  and  holi- 
days. 

There  is  also  on  Sundays  and  holidays  a  village  amuse- 
ment consisting  of  a  dance  by  the  village  girls.  They 
appear  dressed  in  their  best  apparel,  in  which  there  is 
displayed  great  taste,  and  amuse  themselves  and  others  by 
joining  in  a  dance  much  resembling  that  called  thread  the 
needle.  No  one,  how^ever,  but  the  village  girls  unite  in  it, 
and  it  is  always  accompanied  with  singing  by  every  one  of 
the  company,  as  well  as  by  the  dancers  themselves. 


/ 


il 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


Another  kind  of  exercise  in  which  tlie  men  only  partici- 
pate is  wrestling.  Here,  in  common  with  the  same  thing 
among  other  people,  the  effort  is  to  give  their  adversary  a 
fall  with  as  much  dexterity  as  they  are  masters  of.  The 
difierence  in  the  mode  is,  that  the  Russians  hold  by  the 
sash  they  constantly  wear  round  their  waists. 

The  swing  is  also  enjoyed  in  Russia.  Generally  a  lad 
and  lass  stand  at  each  end  of  the  swinging  board,  striving 
alternately  who  can  give  it  the  highest  pitch.  The  rest  of 
the  company  sit  on  the  board,  and  a  song  encourages  and 
adds  to  the  enjoyment. 

The  usual  dance  of  the  Russians  is  a  mimical  represent- 
ation of  courtship.  The  dancer,  by  his  steps  *and  gestures, 
appears  to  court  his  mistress,  who  after  many  windings  and 
turnings,  and  marks  of  refusal  and  disdain,  at  last  relents, 
and  joins  with  him  in  a  merry  dance  called  the  golubetz, 
which  concludes  the  scene. 

Another  species  of  amusement,  much  enjoyed  in  Russia, 
is  sliding  down  ice  hills.  Villagers,  and  especially  their 
children,  imitate  the  great  towns,  by  smoothing  the  decli- 
vity of  a  small  hillock,  or  making  an  artificial  one,  and 
pouring  water  upon  it,  to  give  it  a  crust  of  ice,  from  which 
they  slide  down  on  small  wooden  sledges. 

But  in  St.  Petersburgh  the  ice  hills  are  built  on  a  mag- 
nificent scale.  The  ice  is  smoothed  very  carefully  in  a 
straight  line  about  one  hundred  fathoms  long  and  twenty 
feet  wide.  At  the  end  of  this  sliding  place  another  hill  of 
the  same  size  is  built,  from  which  the  sliding  place  runs 
parallel  again  with  the  other.  Guides  are  appointed  at 
each  hill,  who  sit  upon  small  sledges  of  wood,  about  eigh- 
teen inches  long,  eight  or  ten  inches  broad,  and  a  few  inches 
high,  with  iron  shoes  or  skates  under  them  on  each  side. 
The  person  desiring  to  slide  sits  upon  the  lap  of  the  guide 
with  his  legs  close  together  between  those  of  the  guide, 
who  shoves  himself  forward  with  his  hands  to  the  brink  of 
the  precipice,  from  which  he  rushes  down  with  great 
velocity  to  the  end  of  the  sliding  place. 

VI]  5 


■«i-^ 


im 


J  ■ 


H 

(If  f 


34 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Another  exercise  is  jumping  on  a  board.  This  is  usually 
the  amusement  of  two  girls,  who  balance  a  board  on  a  few 
billets  or  stones,  and  by  degrees  suffer  themselves  to  be 
thrown  up  to  an  extraordinary  height,  by  the  elasticity  and 
spring  of  the  board.  To  attain  any  proficiency  requires 
great  courage  and  skill.  It  is  also  not  unattended  with 
danger,  for  were  the  board  to  swing  horizontally,  or  the 
performers  not  to  fall  perpendicularly,  a  broken  leg  might 
easily  be  the  result. 

The  old  women  in  Russia  are  much  respected,  and  have 
great  confidence  reposed  in  them  by  the  younger  ones. 
All  negotiations  of  marriage  in  the  villages  are  carried  on 
through  their  medium,  and  a  young  man  as  soon  as  his 
aflfections  Iiave  centered  in  their  object  ap[)lies  to  one  of 
these,  either  of  his  own  acquaintance,  or  one  who  may 
be  recommended  to  him  by  her  skill  in  conducting  these 
delicate  affairs.  Some  of  them  are  much  esteemed  for 
their  supposed  power  of  divination,  and  are  applied  to 
in  all  cases  of  losses  to  point  out  the  means  of  repos- 
session. They  also  act  as  midwives  among  the  Russian 
peasantry. 

The  married  women  in  Russia  are  easily  known  by  the 
care  they  take  to  hide  their  hair  under  the  coif  or  cap 
which  they  wear  on  their  heads.  The  immediate  change 
that  takes  place  on  entering  the  marriage  state,  in  the 
whole  of  their  exterior,  is  very  striking,  for  as  they  marry 
very  young,  you  often  see  a  giddy  young  girl  of  twelve  or 
thirteen,  assuming  all  the  serious  formality  of  the  steady 
matron  of  sixty.  They  bring  up  their  children  with  great 
hardiness,  suffering  them  to  be  always  in  the  air,  and  ex- 
posed to  the  severest  weather,  with  no  other  clothing,  per- 
haps, than  a  little  linen  shirt  hardly  reaching  to  the  knees, 
and  yet  slight  as  this  is,  such  is  the  force  of  habit,  that 
they  never  feel  any  inconvenience  from  it.  They  are 
hospitable,  good  managers  in  their  domestic  concerns, 
watchful  for  their  husband's  interest,  and  frugal  even  to 
parsimomy,   yet  extremely  fond  of  show  and  ostentation, 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


35 


sometimes  expending  on  an  entertainment  more  than  would 
kefep  them  and  their  families  decently  for  half  a  year. 

The  clothing  of  the  common  Russians  is  still  the  old 
national  dress  which  is  probably  best  adapted  to  the  exi- 
gences of  the  climate.  It  consists  of  a  long  coat  reaching 
to  the  calves  of  the  legs,  sitting  close  to  the  body,  with  a 
great  number  of  gathers  at  the  bottom  of  the  waist,  and 
lapping  over  the  bosom.  About  his  middle  he  ties  a  sash, 
in  w^iich  he  tucks  his  gloves,  whip  or  axe.  His  neck  is 
entirely  bare  even  in  w^inter,  and  his  lower  garment  consists 
of  wide  linen  trowsers.  He  wears  no  stockings,  but  wrap- 
ping his  feet  in  linen  rags,  draws  on  his  boots,  which  are 
at  times  exchanG^ed  for  shoes  of  matted  linden  bark  or 
leather,  with  neither  buckles  or  ties.  The  covering  of  his 
head  is  a  very  deep  crowned  hat  with  a  narrow  brim,  which 
he  exchanges  in  winter  for  a  cap,  and  his  coat  for  a  sheep- 
skin pelisse,  which  he  also  girds  about  him  with  a  sash. 

The  Russian  plough  is  truly  primitive  in  its  character, 
being  little  other  than  a  crooked  stick  with  which  he 
merely  rakes  the  surface  of  the  earth.  But  notwithstand- 
ing the  rudeness  of  this,  and  all  his  other  implements,  he 
generally  reaps  good  harvests,  and  grows  excellent  corn 
and  grain. 

The  mode  of  living  among  the  Russians  particularly  in 
their  villages,  is  that  all  the  family,  men,  women  and 
children,  live  together  in  one  room,  which  serves  for  their 
kitchen,  dining  room  and  bed-chamber.  A  broad  wooden 
bench  runs  along  two  sides  of  the  room,  in  the  form  of 
a  Greek  r,  in  the  angle  of  which  stands  a  large  wooden 
table  for  the  family.  The  opposite  corner  of  the  room  is 
occupied  by  a  large  oven,  in  which  they  cook  their  victuals. 
The  top  of  it  is  flat,  and  serves  in  lieu  of  bedstead  for  all 
the  family. 

Thus  we  have  endeavored  to  depict  some  of  the  pecu- 
liarities of  home  life  in  Russia.  Yery  much  it  will  be 
seen  still  remains  to  bring  them  up  to  the  European  level 
of  civilization.     Long  and  intimate  communication  with 


I 


36 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


the  Other  nations  of  Europe,  aided  by  the  naturally  imita- 
tive character  of  the  Slavonian  mind,  will  undoubtedly,  in 
the  course  of  time,  work  great  changes  in  the  manners, 
customs,  pastimes,  and  general  society  of  Russia. 

3.  Society  as  it  exists  among  the  Turks.     The  Turks 
were  the  latest  of  all  the  races  that  have  entered  upon  the 
possession  of  any  part  of  Europe.     Their  early  origin  is 
involved  in  much  obscurity.     Those  wlio  succeeded  in  es- 
tabhshing  themselves  in  Europe  were  termed  Osmanh,  or 
Ottoman  Turks,  from  Othmau,  or  Osman,  their  founder. 
They  belonged  originally  to  the  great  Turkish  ftimily  of 
nations,  many  of  which,  at  various  times,  passed  over  the 
Oxus  into  Khorasan,  and  from  thence  advanced  gradually 
westward  into  the  countries  lying  on  the  western  side  of 
the  Euphrates  and  Mount  Taurus.     Their  entrance  into 
Europe  was  signalized  by  the  taking  of  Constantinople  by 
Mahomet  n  in  1453,  and  the  establishment  of  their  domi- 
nion upon  the  ruins  of  the  Greek  empire.     A  little  over 
four  centuries  have  elapsed  since  these  nomades  have  held 
dominion  on  the  banks  of  the  Bosphorus,  and,  by  their 
possession    of    Constantinople,    controlled    the    gateway 
between  Europe  and  Asia.     This  dominion  presents,  much 
more  effectually  than  Russia,  the  introduction  of  Asia  into 
Europe.     The  Slavonian  races,  although  Asiatic  in  their 
original  cast  of  character,  were,  nevertheless,  so  constituted, 
especially  in  the  higlier  circles  of  their  court  and  nobility,  as 
to  become  gradually  the  recipients  of  a  European  civiliza- 
tion.    But  the  Turks  being  originally  a  horde  of  nomadic 
wanderers,  professing  tlie  Maliometan  religion,  and  with 
manners,  customs,  and  everytliing  of  the  social  character, 
quite  unlike,  if  not  entirely  the  reverse,  of  everything  Eu- 
ropean, have  found  all  assimilation  to  European  manners, 
customs,  and  social  forms,  extremely  difficult,  if  not  utterly 
impossible.     Hence,  perhaps,  the   Turkish  can  be  hardly 
considered  as  constituting  an  element  in  Euroi)ean  society, 
and  yet  it  may  be  interesting,  if  for  no  other  purpose  than 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


3T 


1 


by  way  of  contrast,  to  bring  these  last  intruders  into 
Europe  very  briefly  under  review. 

And  here  the  first  obvious  remark  is  that  the  doctrine 
of  contraries  which  we  shall  find  so  generally  to  prevail, 
is  evidenced  even  in  their  political  relations  with  the  other 
powers  of  Europe.  On  their  first  advent,  and  for  several 
generations  succeeding  the  establishment  of  their  dominion 
in  Europe,  those  powers  strongly  desired,  and  as  far  as 
possible  exerted  themselves  to  dislodge  them  from  Europe, 
and  send  them  back  into  Asia.  But  for  several  generations 
past,  the  idea  has  been  constantly  gaining  strength,  that  the 
mutual  jealousy  and  rivalry  between  Great  Britain  and 
Russia  has  been  such  that  the  other  European  powers  have 
felt  the  political  necessity  of  continuing  the  Turks  in  Eu- 
rope, in  order  to  preserve  the  peace  of  the  continent.  The 
moment  the  balance  of  power  was  endangered  or  destroyed 
by  the  fall  of  the  crescent  and  expulsion  of  the  Turks,  that 
moment  would  commence  the  contest  between  Great  Bri- 
tian  and  Russia,  for  the  dominion  of  the  Bosphorus  and 
Black  sea,  which  would  not  probably  cease  within  a  long 
period  of  years. 

The  Turk,  in  his  exterior,  bears  little  resemblance  to 
the  Mongol,  but  differs  little  from  other  Tartar  nations 
except  in  a  nearer  assimilation  to  the  Indo-European  races. 
They  are  described  as  a  large,  well  formed,  robust,  fine  look- 
ing race  of  men,  seldom  below  middle  size,  with  lofty  fore- 
heads, dark  eyes,  often  a  noble  physiognomy,  a  tawny  com- 
plexion, with  black  or  dark  brown  hair.  ^N'ot  unfrequently 
the  Arab,  Grecian,  Persian  and  Circassian  blood  may  flow  in 
the  veins  of  an  Ottoman,  and  to  this  crossing  of  races  and 
mingling  of  bloods  may  be  largely  attributed  the  fine 
physical  forms  so  frequently  met  in  Turkey. 

The  delightful  climate,  and  the  richness  of  the  soil,  make 
slight  demands  upon  labor  for  the  supply  of  the  necessa- 
ries, and  many  of  tlie  luxuries  of  life.  The  Turk  is  no 
plodding  laborer.  His  house  is  built  with  small  reference  to 
the  rules  of  architecture ;  his  gardens  laid  out  without  order 


4^z: 


•^p^««" 


h 


i1 


38 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


or  taste ;  and  his  furniture  simple,  and  adapted  rather  to 
the  habits  of  a  vagrant  people,  than  to  the  usages  of  settled 
Ufe.  In  their  meals  they  are  extremely  frugal;  their  food 
consisting  principally  of  rice,  which  they  dress  in  a  variety 
of  ways.  Their  principal  drink  is  coffee,  of  which  they 
consume  large  quantities.  Their  religion  wisely  prohibits 
the  use  of  wine  or  strong  drink,  but  this  injunction, 
although  exercising  considerable  influence,  is  not  strictly 

obeyed. 

The  dress  of  the  Turks  is  remarkably  free  from  ligatures. 
They  confine  neither  the  neck  nor  waist,  wrist,  knees  or 
feet.  The  garments  they  wear  are  loose  and  flowing. 
Although  they  may  prove  an  encumbrance  in  quick 
motion,  yet  they  sit  easily  and  gracefully  upon  them  when 
walking  with  their  usual  gravity,  or  reclining  on  the  sofa 
or  divan.  The  lower  parts  of  the  body  are  covered  with 
wide  drawers,  or  trowsers.  On  the  upper  parts  is  worn  a 
a  kind  of  wide  vest  bound  with  a  sash,  and  over  all  a  long 
flowing  gown.  Slippers,  instead  of  shoes,  cover  the  feet, 
and  on  the  head  is  very  uniformly  worn  a  turban. 

The  female  dress,  like  that  of  the  men,  consists  of  long, 
loose  flowing  robes,  differing  not  materially  from  it  in 
form.  Instead  of  the  turban,  the  head  is  very  often  covered 
with  a  stiff*  kind  of  cap.  Another  indispensable  part  of  a 
female  dress  when  she  appears  abroad  is  a  veil,  which 
operates  as  a  complete  disguise. 

The  art  of  bathing  has  attained  great  perfection  in 
Turkey.  The  public  baths  are  elegant  and  noble  struc- 
tures, built  with  hewn  stones,  having  in  them  several  apart- 
ments, the  entrance  being  a  spacious  and  lofty  hall,  round 
the  sides  of  which  are  high  and  broad  benches,  on  which 
are  arranged  mattrasses  and  cushions.  The  inner  cham- 
bers are  capacious,  and  paved  with  slabs  of  the  rarest  and 
most  beautiful  marble.  In  these  rooms  the  body  and  limbs 
are  thoroughly  cleansed  by  means  of  friction  with  a  horse 
hair  bag,  and  washed  and  rubbed  with  a  lather  of  perfumed 
soap.     Those  describing  the  luxuries  of  an  oriental  bath, 


-L 


I 


) 


n 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


39 


say  that  a  very  comfortable  sensation  is  communicated 
during  the  continuance  in  the  heated  rooms,  and  that  it  is 
heightened  into  luxury  when  the  bather  reposes  himself  on 
a  couch  after  the  ablution.  This  species  of  delicious  re- 
pose, however,  has  many  charms  for  a  Turk  and  an 
oriental,  which  a  European  would  fail  to  appreciate.  The 
latter  delights  in  action,  while  to  the  former  every  custom 
invites  to  repose,  and  every  object  inspires  an  indolent 
voluptuousness.  Their  earthly  paradise  is  well  nigh  being 
attained,  when  they  can  recUne  on  soft  verdure  beneath  the 
shade  of  trees,  musing  without  any  fixedness  of  attention, 
lulled  into  a  half  unconscious  state  by  the  tinkling  of  a 
fountain  or  the  murnmring  of  a  rivulet,  at  the  same  time 
inhaling  lazily  through  their  pipe  a  gentle  inebriating  vapor. 
The  Turk  derives  a  positive  pleasure  from  the  abandon- 
ment of  his  organization  to  those  physical  influences  which 
in  that  mild  climate  and  delightful  atmosphere,  are  natur- 
ally exerted  upon  it. 

Besides  the  bathing,  the  Turks  make  frequent  ablutions. 
Their  religion  imposes  upon  them  the  necessity  of  washing 
their  arms,  legs  and  necks  from  three  to  ^ve  times  a  day  in 
cold  water.  This  is  done  generally  at  the  fountains  before 
the  mosques,  and  by  this  means  they  protect  themselves 
against  catarrhal  affections.^  By  their  frequent  use  of  the 
bath,  cold  and  vapor,  they  also  escape  many  disorders. 
The  formidable  diseases  of  gout,  rheumatism,  head-ache, 
and  consumption  are  unknown  in  Turkey. 

Smoking  is  a  luxury  in  which  the  Turks  almost  uni- 
formly indulge  themselves.  It  is  a  custom,  all  but  universal, 
even  in  the  Turkish  harem.  The  length  of  the  pipe,  ac- 
cording to  the  dignity  of  the  smoker,  is  often  six  or  seven 
feet,  being  sometimes  carried  by  two  servants,  the  bowl 
being  supported  by  wheels. 

To  enjoy  inebriation  without  having  recourse  to  liquors, 
which  their  religion  prohibits,  they  resort  to  opium.     This 


^  Slade,  I,  174. 


i 


satmm 


40 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


II 


1.  i 


i     ' 
11 


• 


is  not  in  as  extensive  use  now  as  formerly.  The  object 
of  it  is  to  excite  the  imagination,  to  act  vividly  in  the  crea- 
tion of  pleasing  images.  In  all  the  large  cities  of  Turkey 
coffee  houses  are  constantly  open,  where  may  be  at  any 
time  procured  both  coffee  and  opium. 

In  a  Turkish  house  there  are  no  chambers  exclusively 
appropriated  as  bed-rooms.  Every  room  in  it  serves  for 
every  purpose,  and  the  furniture  in  all  differs  only  in 
fineness  of  quality  or  richness  of  ornament.  The  sofa  or 
divan  extends  around  three  sides  of  the  chamber,  on  a 
frame  raised  a  few  inches  from  the  floor.  The  use  of  chairs 
and  tables  is  almost  unknown. 

The  dinner  is  served  up  on  a  large  circular  tray  of  cop- 
per placed  on  a  low  stool  at  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  around 
which  the  guests  are  arranged  sitting  cross-legged.  In- 
stead of  a  table  cloth  a  long  napkin  is  spread  over  the 
knees  of  the  guests.  They  make  no  use  of  plates,  nor 
even  of  knives  and  forks.  The  chief  of  the  family  serves 
himself  with  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand,  and  invites  the 
company  to  follow  his  example. 

The  Turk  is  in  almost  all  things  the  antipode  of  the 
Frank,  the  term  which  in  Turkey  designates  a  European. 
He  has  also  many  seeming  contradictions  with  himself. 
He  is  fond  of  riding,  and  has  no  roads,  and  of  visiting  his 
friends  in  state,  but  has  no  carriage.  His  streets  are 
neither  named  nor  numbered.  Havino:  few  formalities  he 
is  quick  in  business,  although  slow  in  his  movements. 
He  veils  and  imprisons  his  wives,  and  yet  on  certain  occa- 
sions allows  them  to  go  where  they  please  unaccompanied. 

In  Turkey,  superiors  salute  inferiors.  When  a  present 
is  given,  instead  of  the  receiver  thanking  the  giver,  the 
giver  thanks  the  receiver.  A  guest  invited  to  dinner  is 
thanked  for  coming.  While  tlie  Frank  uncovers  his  head 
as  a  mark  of  respect,  the  Turk,  for  a  similar  manifestation,^ 
takes  off  his  shoes.     In  speech  he  uses  few  words,  seldom 


^Eclectic,  August,  185G,  457. 


I 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


41 


exaggerating,  but  he  delights  in  listening  to  long  stories, 
and  the  most  improbable  freaks  of  the  imagination.  As 
he  is  a  firm  believer  in  fate  and  destiny,  he  suffers  evils 
uncomplainingly.  He  has  a  great  contempt  for  ancestry, 
and  yet  surrenders  his  life  up  cheerfully  at  the  demand 
of  the  sultan,  who  is  regarded  as  the  descendant  of  the 
prophet. 

The  following  curious  practical  differences  have  been 
noticed.  The  Turkish  barber  pushes  the  razor  from  him 
in  shaving;  the  Frank  draws  it  to  him.  The  Turkish 
carpenter  draws  the  saw  to  him,  for  all  the  teeth  are  set 
in ;  the  Frank  pushes  it  from  him,  for  all  the  teeth  are  set 
out.  The  Turkish  mason  sits  while  he  lays  the  stones; 
the  Frank  always  stands.  The  Turkish  scribe  writes  on  his 
hand  from  right  to  left ;  the  Frank  on  a  desk  or  table  from 
left  to  right.  The  Frank  begins  at  the  bottom  of  a  frame 
house  and  finishes  to  the  top ;  The  Turk  at  the  top  and 
finishes  to  the  bottom.  The  Frank  wife  often  brings  a 
dowry  to  her  husband ;  the  Turkish  husband  pays  a  sum 
of  money  to  her  parents  for  his  wife. 

Marriage  with  the  Turks  is  viewed  in  the  light  of  a  civil 
contract.  It  states  with  great  particularity  the  dowry  to 
be  settled  on  the  wife  in  case  she  survived  her  husband 
or  be  divorced.  If  she  brings  any  property  it  also  states 
that  which  at  her  death  or  separation  must  be  fully 
restored.  The  parties  rarely  see  each  other  until  the 
contract  is  completed.  The  wedding  lasts  four  days,  from 
Monday  moruing  until  the  evening  of  Thursday.  The  wed- 
ding festivities  in  the  houses  of  both  parents  are  kept  up  by 
the  men  and  women  separate.'  They  consist  principally  in 
banquets,  the  intervals  being  filled  up  with  coffee,  sherbet, 
confectionery,  perfumes,  and  pipes.  A  grave  hilarity 
presides  over  these  meetings,  which  are  enlivened  at  times 
by  bands  of  jugglers  and  story-tellers.  The  ceremonies  on 
each  one  of  the  four  days  are  different.     At  their  conclusion 


'  Eclectic  for  Novcmher,  1855,  973. 
vi]  6 


42 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


! 


1 1 


I 

I 


I  . 


ii  ■ 


the  husband  is  at  liberty  to  lift  the  mysterious  veil,  and  the 
parties,  probably  for  the  first  time,  behold  each  other. 

Polygamy  is  practiced  among  the  Turks.  The  laws  of 
Mahomet  allow  a  man  to  have  four  wives,  and  as  many 
concubines  as  he  can  aflbrd  to  maintain.  Practically,  how- 
ever, examples  of  polygamy  are  quite  uncommon.  The 
Turk  has  no  money-making  genius,  and  this  is  too  expen- 
sive a  luxury.  The  law  obliges  the  man  who  marries 
several  wives  to  give  each  a  separate  apartment  with  every 
thing  proportioned  to  his  means,^  and  also  to  the  family  of 
his  wife.  He  must  also  separately  endow  each,  and  keep 
Tip  separate  establishments  throughout,  as  to  suites  of  apart- 
ments, furniture,  servants,  etc.  It  is,  therefore,  only  the 
great  and  wealthy  who  can  think  of  enjoying  so  great  a 

luxury. 

The  wife  is  bound  to  pay  to  the  husband  implicit  obe- 
dience, to  remain  standing  in  his  presence,  and  to  serve 
him  at  table.  But  in  return  she  enjoys  a  sovereign  rule  in 
the  harem.  She  there  has  the  management  of  the  house- 
hold, brings  up  the  children,  and  superintends  the  servants 

and  slaves. 

The  married  women  in  Turkey  lead  very  monotonous 
lives  within  the  harem,  arising  from  the  diflaculty  of  filling 
up  their  leisure  hours.  They  do  not  read,  are  poor  musi- 
cians, and  have  little  inclination  for  needle-work.  Their 
time  is  principally  spent  in  dressing,  bathing,  visiting,  and 
playing  at  school  girl's  games. 

The  Turk  through  the  day  conducts  himself  with  great 
gravity  in  all  his  movements.  Slow,  solemn,  taciturn,  he 
appears  in  all  things  a  man  of  destiny.  With  stolid  indif- 
ference he  awaits  the  occurring  of  events,  and  then,  what- 
ever their  character,  renders  praise  to  Alia.  But  when  he 
returns  to  his  harem  at  the  close  of  the  day,  he  throws  ofi" 
his  deep-toned  solemnity.  The  orgies  of  the  evening  in 
most  harems  are  conducted  with  all  the  levity  of  licentious- 


EcUctic,  November y  1855, 972 . 


>  m 


[I. 
111. 


I 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


43 


ness,  and  the  gravity  of  the  Moslems  totally  disappears ; 
their  roars  of  laughter  are  to  be  heard  in  the  adjoining 
houses.^  So  far  is  this  carried  that  in  the  opinion  of  some 
the  gravity  of  the  Turk  during  the  day  is  only  the  exhaus- 
tion of  his  spirits  from  previous  excitement. 

• 

II.  Society  as  it  existed  in  the  Middle  Ages,  and  under  the 

Feudal  System, 

We  have  taken  a  rapid  glance  at  the  Teutonic  nations  in 
their  primitive  seats,  and  the  manners  and  customs  by 
which  they  were  distinguished.  In  their  migrations  and 
settlements  in  the  more  western  and  southern  provinces 
wrested  from  the  Roman  empire  at  least  three  efiects  fol- 
lowed having  a  bearing  upon  domestic  life  and  manners. 

These  were : 

1.  The  intermixtures  that  occurred  between  the  new  in- 
vading races,  and  the  original  population  which  had  for 
long  periods  of  time  filled  the  provinces.  That  old  popu- 
lation, although  far  more  refined  and  highly  civilized,  so 
far  as  related  to  matters  of  intellect  and  of  taste,  were  never- 
theless depraved^in  morals,  having  a  blunted  or  vitiated 
conscientiousness,  seeking  after  physical  pleasures  and 
enjoyments  without  much  regard  to  the  means  by  which 
they  were  to  be  secured.  A  disregard  of  right,  annihilation 
of  female  virtue,  and  the  exercise  of  refined  cruelty,  often 
marked  their  course  of  conduct.  These  could  not  but 
exercise  a  corrupting  influence  upon  the  less  refined  but, 
in  some  respects,  more  virtuous  barbarians,  inferior  as  they 
most  palpably  were  to  the  conquered  in  all  the  arts  of  life. 

2.  The  conversion  of  these  races  to  the  Christian  reli- 
gion. Although  the  change  from  paganism  to  Christianity 
worked  its  effect  upon  several  of  the  great  elements  of 
character,  yet  the  identity  of  the  individual,  psychological 
as  well  as  physical,  was  preserved ;  and  hence  the  roughness, 


*  BelVs  Oesgraphy,  ii,  507. 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


n 


It  t 


liarsbiiess,  warlike  tendencies,  propensity  to  action  and  en- 
joyment, which  had  previously  so  marked  the  character  still 
continued  to  exert  their  influence.  Peculiar  individual 
idiosyncrasies  still  remained  in  full  force.  AVhen  the 
heart  ot  Clovis,  the  founder  of  the  Frank  or  French  king- 
dom, was  warmed  up  by  the  story  of  the  cross  and  the 
crucifixion,  it  was  only  a  characteristic  outburst  when  he 
said  "  Had  I  been  there  with  my  valiant  Franks  we  should 
have  been  amply  avenged."  Notwithstanding,  therefore, 
the  work  of  grace  upon  the  heart,  there  was  undoubtedly 
much  of  harshness  and  severity,  much  even  of  violence 
and  disorder,  during  the  dark  ages.  Still  the  influence  of 
religion  was  undoubtedly  restraining  and  salutary. 

3.  The  change  in  occupation  that  occurred  on  the  settle- 
ment in  the  Roman  provinces.  Previous  to  that,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  the  German  nations  were  made  up  of 
tribes  dwelling  in  dense  forests,  and  subsisting  mainly 
upon  the  products  of  hunting  and  fishing,  together  with 
what  they  derived  from  their  flocks  and  herds.  The  cul- 
tivation of  the  earth  was  accounted  disgraceful,  and  en- 
tirely unworthy  of  freemen.  To  such  belonged  the  higher, 
more  exciting  and  glorious  occupations  of  the  chase  and  of 
war.  The  more  ignoble  pursuits  of  common  industry 
were  assigned  to  women,  to  children,  and  to  the  aged. 

But  when  the  soil  of  the  Roman  provinces  came  to  be 
parceled  out  among  the  invading  tribes,  and  individuals 
became  the  owners  of  landed  property,  the  pursuits  of 
agriculture  assumed  an  importance  until  then  unknown. 
They  found  already  a  high  state  of  cultivation  in  the  pro- 
vinces, and  to  take  possession  of  cultivated  farms,  without 
continuing  to  cultivate  them,  seemed  to  be  unreasonable 
and  inexpedient.  Hence  men  began  to  turn  their  atten- 
tion more  and  more  to  agricultural  pursuits  and  to  cul- 
tivate the  lands  they  had  conquered  and  were  obliged 
to  defend.  The  occupations  of  the  men  in  pushing  forward 
the  pursuits  of  agriculture,  in  undertaking  the  various 
labors  of  the  field,  naturally  led  to  confiding  to  women  the 


it^ 


: 


% 
{ 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


45 


superintendence  of  all  their  domestic  concerns,  and  the 
education  of  their  children.  To  them  belonged  the  economy 
of  the  fireside,  and  the  performance  of  all  those  domestic 
duties,  which  resulted  in  rendering  the  wife  and  mother 
the  centre  of  so  many  interesting  relations. 

This  change  in  the  industrial  habits  and  pursuits  of  the 
people  led,  of  course,  to  changes  in  manners  and  customs, 
forms  of  intercourse,  and  modes  of  life.  These,  however, 
were  all  modified  by  the  introduction  and  action  of  a  new 
system  to  which  the  exigences  of  the  times  gave  birth, 
and  which  has  exerted  no  small  amount  of  influence  upon 
all  subsequent  history.  This  was  the  feudal  system,  which, 
in  its  bearings  upon  the  element  of  government,  has  already 
been  considered.  But  its  bearings  on  society  still  remain 
for  our  consideration. 

In  order  to  understand  properly  the  foundations  from 
which  the  society  of  western  and  southern  Europe  took  its 
rise  it  should  be  remembered  that,  prior  to  the  conquest, 
the  great  proprietors  of  the  Gallo-Roman  population  lived 
either  in  cities,  or  in  beautiful  and  expensive  houses  in 
the  neighborhood  of  cities,^  or  in  rich  plains  upon  the 
banks  of  rivers.  In  the  countvy  districts  were  dispersed 
the  villfe,  which  were  great  buildings  serving  for  the  im- 
provement of  estates,  and  also  for  the  dwelling  of  the 
laborers  or  serfs,  who  cultivated  them. 

All  these  were  inviting  prizes  for  the  conquering  Ger- 
man. He  had  emerged  from  his  native  forests,  and  the 
wonderful  products  of  civilization  filled  him  with  astonish- 
ment, and  animated  him  with  the  wish  to  become  their 
possessor.  He  accordingly  established  himself  in  the 
habitations  of  the  old  Roman  proprietors,  whether  in  the 
cities,  or  in  the  vilhie  in  the  country.  The  latter  were 
undoubtedly  more  ao-reeable,  as  they  were  more  in  con- 
formity with  his  previous  habits.^  Accordingly  the  villse 
continued  to  remain  almost  the  same  after,  as  before,  the 


'Ouizot,  in,  ddS.    'My//,  398. 


it 


■^■M 


46 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


47 


\\ 


i'  ■ 


\V\ 


I  . 


1^ 


i 


!| 


■  i 


barbarian  invasion.  They  were  so  many  centres  of  improve- 
ment  and  habitation  of  great  domains.  They  presented 
the  singular  fact  of  buildings  scattered  throughout  the  coun- 
try districts,  where  Germans  and  Romans,  conquerors  and 
conquered,  masters,  free  men,  laborers  and  slaves  all  lived 

together. 

But  notwithstanding  this  continued  uniformity  in  appear- 
ance, causes  were  in  operation  which  in  time 'wrought 
great  changes.  E'othing  was  permanent  or  stable.  New 
invasions  succeeded.  Those  behind  continued^  to  press 
onward,  and  coveted  as  much  the  products  of  civilization 
as  their  predecessors.  Hence  violence,  disorder,  pillage, 
and  bloodshed,  kept  on  their  course  with  little,  if  any, 

interruption. 

This  compelled  the  first  invaders  to  resort  to  the  arts  of 
defense.  These  were  rendered  necessary  more  as  a  protec- 
tion against  new  invaders  than  the  original  inhabitants. 
The  villiB,  therefore,  ceased  to  present  its  former  peaceful 
aspect  It  presented  the  insignia  of  war.  It  became 
girded  by  moats  and  ramparts,  and  the  appearances  of 
defense  and  of  fortification  everywhere  presented  them- 
selves. 

Another  result  followed.  The  universal  prevalence  of 
disorders,  and  the  constant  necessity  of  facing  dangers,  led 
to  a  searching  out  of  places  of  strength  and  security.  The 
plains,  readily  accessible  to  invaders,  were,  in  many  in- 
stances, abandoned,^  while  a  more  secure  refuge  was 
sought  in  the  heights  and  in  places  which  were  very  diffi- 
cult of  access.  These  were  surrounded  by  fortifications,  in 
order  to  secure  a  more  complete  protection. 

Thus  the  heights,  and  places  of  difficult  access,  more  and 
more  bristled  with  castles,  whose  turrets,  and  ramparts,  and 
moats,  and  drawbridges,  with  other  means  of  defense,  were 
fast  overspreading  the  land,  after  the  reign  of  Charlemagne 
and  during  the  eleventh,  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries. 


I 
f 

ft 
I 

■ill 


Beneath,  and  around,  lay  the  feudal  village,  protected  by 
the  castle,  but  composed  of  a  very  diffiirent  order  of  people. 
We  have  already  seen  the  political  relations  established 
between  the  two,  and  the  nature  of  the  political  bond  con- 
necting the  suzerain  with  his  vassal.  But  the  political  was 
the  only  bond  that  bound  the  one  to  the  other.  In  society 
they  were  almost  as  widely  separated  from  each  other,  as 
if  the  cattle  and  feudal  village  had  been  located  on  diflfer- 
ent  planets. 

Thus  the  castle,  although  surrounded  with  difterent 
forms  of  life,  was,  nevertheless,  in  a  state  of  social  isolation. 
"No  foot  ever  pressed  its  draw-bridge  to  cross  its  moat 
except  upon  the  performance  of  a  great  number  of  formal- 
ities, that  were  deemed  necessary  to  insure  its  safety.  !N"ot- 
withstanding  this  state  of  isolation  in  which  the  castle 
existed,  we  must  enter  it  and  inquire  into  the  social  life 
which  is  led  there. 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  upon  our  entrance  is  the  little 
there  is  to  do  within.^  Its  lordly  possessor  has  no  round 
of  duties  to  perform,  no  regular  occupations,  nothing 
aftbrding  permanent  employment.  His  fields  were  im- 
proved by  his  vassals,  and  hence  nothing  of  an  agricultural 
nature  could  occupy  his  attention.  He  could  hunt  as  a 
pastime,  but  no  necessity  was  imposed  upon  him  to  hunt 
as  a  means  of  living.  No  industrial  pursuit  of  any  kind 
pressed  upon  him.  Neither  was  he  subjected  to  any 
political  activity.  Lord  only  of  a  small  domain,  he  was 
comparatively  a  king  without  subjects,  a  sovereign  with- 
out strength;  and  yet  possessed  of  tendencies  to  action 
intensified  by  the  peculiarities  of  his  circumstances  and 
situation. 

A  being  thus  constituted  could  not  be  expected  to  find 
in  mere  domestic  life  all  that  the  cravings  of  his  more 
active  nature  demanded.  Hence  he  spent  much  of  his 
time  abroad  in  search  of  adventures.     Something  of  ro- 


i( 


Ouizot,  III,  399. 


'  Ouizot,  III,  407,  408. 


! 


h 


MkadM 


48 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


li* 


P 

y 


(■» ; 


mance  mingled  itself  with  scenes  and  events  around  which 
lingered  many  a  stern  reality.  It  is  to  this  that  much  of 
the  tangled  wehb  of  history,  during  this  era,  owes  its 
origin,  interest,  and  importance.  Robbery,  rapine,  vio- 
lence, bloodshed,  in  all  their  various  forms,  attest  the 
pressure  of  those  fierce  and  ever  restless  activities,  that 
finally  found  their  culminating  point  in  the  Crusades, 
precipitating  Europe  upon  Asia  in  several  successive  ill- 
directed  but  terrible  invasions. 

And  yet  the  feudal  chieftain,  however  given  to  violence, 
however  earnestly  seeking  after  adventures,  could  not 
abandon  his  castle,  his  home.  Thither  he  was  forced  to 
return,  if  for  no  other  purpose,  for  that  of  defending  it. 
The  more  he  waged  warfare  against  others,  the  stronger 
the  necessity  imposed  upon  him  to  defend  his  own.  His 
castle  once  taken  his  empire  was  overturned,  and  himself 
sent  abroad  a  wanderer. 

Certain  home  necessities,  therefore,  grew  out  of  its  own 
temporary  abandonments,  but  we  should  undoubtedly  do 
the  feudal  chieftain  great  injustice  by  denying  to  other 
causes  their  reasonable  share  of  influence.  The  roughness 
of  his  nature,  as  evidenced  by  its  outward  manifestations, 
was  not  always  steeled  against  those  inward  feelings  which 
claim  and  will  find  in  every  human  bosom  a  lodgment 
and  a  power. 

His  castle  was  not  alone  a  thing  to  be  defended,  thus 
linking  him  with  the  warfares  of  his  age.  It  was  not 
alone  his  resort  in  times  of  peril.  It  was  over,  and  be- 
yond all  these  a  home;  where  the  treasures  of  his  heart 
were  garnered  up ;  where  his  wife  and  children  were 
ever  ready  to  welcome  his  return,  to  rejoice  in  his  tri- 
umphs, to  share  in  his  perils,  to  soothe  him  in  times 
of  trouble,  and,  by  their  social  qualities,  and  ever  ready 
appliances,  to  renovate,  refit,  and  restore  him  to  scenes  in 
which  he  delighted  to  participate.  Society  during  that 
period  which  was  strictly  feudal,  was  limited  almost  to  the 
domestic  circle;  the  greater  the  limitation, the  more  intense 


f 


■ 


I 


\ 


J^ 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


49 


the  action  of  the  social  aftections  upon  their  respective 
objects.  It  results  from  all  this,  that  we  find  amid  the 
disturbances,  perils,  and  desolations  that  characterized  the 
feudal  period  and  the  sources  from  which  are  derived 
the  development  of  that  simple  element,  so  important  in 
the  formation  of  society,  the  family.  The  suzerain  could  not 
regard  his  vassals  as  socially  his  equals.  This  was  rendered 
impossible  by  their  political  relations.  But  his  wife  and 
children  presented  higher  claims.  They  were  not  his  vas- 
sals, owed  him  no  fealty,  were  so  many  parts  of  himself. 
They  were  socially  his  equals,  and  that  sense  of  social  equal 
ity  produced'  its  animating  and  elevating  efl:ect  upon  the 
wife  and  children,  and  thus,  in  its  turn,  rendered  them 
more  worthy  that  equality.  * 

Another  general  fact  is  also  worthy  an  attentive  con- 
sideration. In  the  absence  of  the  suzerain  from  his  castle 
in  his  huntings,  wars,  and  search  after  adventures,  the  wife 
was  naturally,  and  almost  necessarily,  his  representative. 
To  her  belonged  its  defense  if  besieged  in  his  absence.  Its 
safety  until  his  return  rested  upon  her  discretion  and  valor. 
Whatever  of  action  was  required  to  be  done  during  his 
absence  devolved  upon  her.  She  stood  in  his  place,  and 
acted  in  his  stead.  The  exigences  of  such  a  position,  and 
the  necessity  of  being  called  upon  to  act  under  such  circum- 
stances, not  only  exercised  a  powerful  efiect  in  developing 
the  mind  of  woman,  but  also  served  to  elevate  her  in  the 
estimation  of  the  sterner  sex.  Equality  was  much  more 
readily  conceded  where  the  pressure  of  equal  duties  was 
felt,  and  at  times  actually  experienced. 

Another  fact  of  importance  has  its  bearing  upon  the 
children.  Here  was  a  fief,  an  inheritance  to  descend. 
This  required  an  heir,  or  heirs ;  and  the  feudal  policy  de- 
termined that  the  first-born  should  inherit.  This  right  of 
inheritance  embraced  not  only  the  property,  but  along  with 
it  the  political  power  which  was  incidental  to  it,  and  which 
properly  constituted  feudalism.  Where  the  rights  of  pro- 
perty and  of  sovereignty  were  to  become  united  in  the  same 

VI]  7 


5-= 


50 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


M 


heir,  it  was  important  that  his  education  and  training  should 
he  such  as  to  fit  him  for  the  judicious  exercise  of  such  high 
powers.  Hence  that  other  element  of  a  family  besides  the 
wife,  viz:  children,  especially  the  first-horn  son,  grew  in  im- 
portance and  came  to  demand  a  large  share  of  attention. 
This  brought  with  it  a  strong  feeling  for  posterity ;  a  de- 
sire to  render  the  coming  generation  competent  to  fulfill  the 
trusts  which  the  course  of  events  would  inevitably  devolve 

upon  it. 

The  most  important  customs,  peculiarly  constituting  the 
feudal  system,  have  already  had  their  consideration  under 
the  element  of  government.     As  we  there  found  that  system 
to  be  the  matrix  in  which  originated,  and  in  some  degree, 
were   shaped  those   struggling  forces,  that  subsequently 
achieved  their  enfranchisement,  and  became   the  funda- 
mental animating  principles  in  the  difi'erent  governments 
of  Europe,  so  we  find  it  here,  also,  performing  the  same  im- 
portant function  in  presenting  to  the  European  world  that 
nucleus  around  which  all  society  gathers,  that  element  so 
essential  to  its  existence  in  any,  and   all  its  forms,   the 
family.      We  shall  have  occasion,  presently,  to  consider 
some  peculiar  institutions,   the  outgrowths  of  the  feudal 
system,  which  have  exercised  a  great  and  permanent  influ- 
ence upon  society;  but,  before  proceeding  to  their  consider- 
ation, we  will  notice  some  of  the  social  results  which  have 
flowed  from  the  operation  of  that  system. 

One  of  these  was  to  give  the  land  owner  a  superior  social 
position  to  that  occupied  by  men  equally  rich  in  other 
kinds  of  property.  This  naturally  arose  from  the  fact 
that  land  was  the  only  species  of  property  originally  that 
conferred  upon  its  owner  political  power.  Hence  the 
deep  rooted  prejudice  in  the  minds  of  men  all  over  west- 
em  Europe,  of  the  comparatively  greater  value  and  im- 
portance of  the  landed  interest.  With  that  interest,  nobility, 
the  oftspring  of  feudalism,  allied  itself,  and  hence  rank 
has  stepped  in  to  add  to  its  importance,  and  to  surround 
it  with  greater  attractions.     The  merchant,  or  even  the 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


51 


1- 


professional  man,  although  possessed  of  vastly  more  wealth 
than  the  landed  proprietor,  could  never  attain  the  political 
or  social  position  of  the  latter.  That  alone,  of  all  the 
difierent  species  of  property,  down  to  the  present  time,  has 
continued  to  send  its  representatives  to  constitute  a  co- 
ordinate branch  of  the  British  parliament. 

Another  result  intimately  connected  with  that  last  men- 
tioned, is  to  be  found  in  the  origin  given  by  it  to  the 
nobility  or  privileged  classes.  These  are  the  direct  and 
natural  outgrowth  of  the  feudal  system.  That  system  by 
giving  origin  to  special  privileges,  such  as  were  not,  and 
could  not,  be  enjoyed  by  the  common  people;  and  su- 
peradding to  that  their  perpetuation  by  descent  in  the 
families  in  which  they  were  enjoyed,  easily  and  naturally 
led  to  the  establishment  of  the  u  obility.  The  feudal  suzerain 
of  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  exercising  his  baronial 
powers,  partly  political,  partly  proprietary,  over  the 
vassals  of  his  fief,  became  easily  metamorphosed  into  the 
noble  of  the  fifteenth  and  subsequent  centuries,  retaining 
all  his  proprietary  rights,  but  yielding  up  his  political  to 
the  stronger  demand  for  a  more  centralized  form  of  go- 
vernment. In  exchange,  however,  for  this  loss  of  political 
power  he  acquired  a  social  position  and  standing,  which, 
in  connection  with  an  advancing  civilization,  was  a  more 
than  compensation. 

Some  of  the  social  peculiarities  attending  the  nobility 
are  among  the  legitimate  outgrowths  of  the  feudal  system. 
One  of  these  has  been  already  alluded  to,  the  perpetuation 
of  landed  estates,  and  the  privileges  thereby  conferred. 
Another  is  to  be  found  in  the  greater  warlike  propen- 
sities and  proclivities  of  the  nobles.  They  were  naturally 
the  foremost  in  all  military  enterprises.  Their  education 
partook  of  a  military  character.  The  arts  of  peace,  espe- 
cially in  the  early  ages  of  their  existence,  were  held  in 
little  estimation  by  them.  Mercantile  occupations  were 
everywhere,  except  in  England,  regarded  as  unbecoming 
a  gentleman ;  and  even  there  men  of  rank  have  seldom 


am^mmmimit 


i 


'ij 


J 


ll  ■'). 


i 


1 1. 


52 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


ever  eiifiraored  in  them.  When  an  old  French  noble  desired 
to  embark  in  trade  to  make  money,  he  gave  up  his  sword, 
the  emblem  of  his  nobility,  until  he  laid  aside  the  merchant 
to  resume  again  the  noble.^  So  far  has  this  been  carried 
that  in  some  countries,  lawyers,  and  in  many,  physicians, 
are  not,  at  the  present  day,  admitted  into  the  highest 
society;  nor  were  they  formerly  in  England  except  in  par- 
ticular cases. 

The  class  of  nobles  throughout  almost  all  Europe,  in  virtue 
of  their  special  privileges  and  exemptions,  of  their  some- 
what peculiar  proprietary  rights,  of  their  remnants,  in  many, 
of  political  power,  of  their  habits  of  association  with  each 
other  and  the  exclusion  from  their  society  of  the  common 
people  have  formed  a  species  of  caste,  although  not  with 
lines  of  demarkation  so  strongly  and  so  exclusively  drawn 
as  in  the  eastern  countries.  Still,  so  far  as  society  is  con- 
cerned, it  has  not  fallen  very  far  short  of  it. 

Another  result  is  in  the  sentiment,  veneration  for  the  past, 
which  was  a  proper  outgrowth  of  the  feudal  system.  This 
has  had  no  small  influence  upon  European  civilization. 
Antiquity  of  family ;  the  possession  of  ancient  castles ;  old 
and  well  settled  customs  and  usages ;  even  ideas  and  notions 
that  had  floated  down  from  generation  to  generation,  until 
they  became,  in  a  manner,  fixed  in  the  minds  of  men;  all 
acquired  that  sacred  and  venerable  character  that  secured 
for  them  the  highest  amount  of  consideration.  All  these 
served  as  links  to  connect  the  present  with  the  past  and 
the  future,  and  so  to  bind  the  future  to  the  |>ast  as  to  pre- 
vent the  race  from  becoming  too  progressive,  and  to  insure 
to  it  an  unfailing  identity. 

This,  it  is  true,  had  its  evils.  It  often  hallowed  abuses,  and 
consecrated  customs,  usages  and  ideas,  which  the  advancing 
spirit  of  the  age  had  outgrown.  It  became  a  great  con- 
servative principle,  which,  as  far  as  its  influence  was  felt, 
operated  to  resist  all  change,  to  destroy  all  progress,  and 


^  Brofif/h/oh,  319. 


Ti 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


63 


to  tie  Europe  dowm  to  a  changeless,  moveless,  statu  quo. 
This  feature  of  conservatism  in  all  the  elements  of  civiliza- 
tion, and  especially  the  social,  has  greatly  aftected  the 
destiny  of  Europe,  and  presented  a  great  point  of  distinc- 
tion between  the  peoples  of  the  old  and  the  new  world. 
And  yet,  although  adverse  to  progress,  its  operation  has, 
undoubtedly,  been  beneficial.  It  has  kept  back  a  too  rapid 
advancement;  prevented  frequent  and  premature  changes, 
and  held  the  hearts  and  minds  of  men  firmly  fixed  in 
willing  loyalty  to  social  customs  and  habits,  processes  of 
activity,  and  even  to  methods  of  thought  and  modes  of  de- 
velopment, until  all  the  principles  involved  had  been  fully 
brought  out,  thoroughly  tested,  and  all  the  possible  appli- 
cations of  them  made.  Thus,  although  the  race  may  not 
have  ran  so  fast,  or  developed  so  much  within  a  given  period 
of  time,  yet  it  has  been  constantly  acquiring  strength 
in  its  progress,  and  thus  preparing  itself  for  a  longer  and  a 
stronger  run,  and  a  more  full  and  perfect  development 
of  all  the  principles  that  are  embraced  in  the  elements  of 
its.civilization. 

Another  result  is  the  sense  or  feeling  of  superiority  pos- 
sessed by  the  privileged  class,  and  of  inferiority  by  the  lower 
classes.  This  has  probably  worked  greater  efiects  in  the 
social  than  in  any  other  element.  It  was  another  neces- 
sary outgrowth  of  the  feudal  system.  Such  a  sense,  or 
feeling  could  not  but  originate  in  the  privileges  and  ex- 
emptions of  the  one,  and  the  exclusion  of  the  other.  This 
worked  both  a  bad  and  a  good  efiect  in  society.  The  bad 
was  the  habit  it  engendered  of  looking  up  to  rank  and  sta- 
tion; of  confounding  them  with  merit;  of  being  overawed 
in  the  presence  of  nobles ;  and  of  being  led  to  regard  them 
as  a  superior  race  of  men.^  On  the  one  hand  it  produced 
meanness,  subserviency,  and  timiditj^  On  the  other,  pride, 
insolence,  and  arrogance.  "  Persons  of  rank  regarded  all 
beneath  them  as  of  an  inferior  nature;  'while  persons  of 


^Brougham,  rM7. 


54 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


II 


none  looked  up  to  their  superiors  as  more  than  ordinary 
mortals."  These  feelings  have  penetrated  and  pervaded, 
more  or  less  thoroughly,  all  ranks  and  grades  of  society  in 
Europe;  and  everywhere  worked  out  their  legitimate  re- 
sults, which  have  been  antisocial,  inharmonious,  and,  in 
the  highest  degree,  prejudicial. 

The  other,  and  good  effect,  is  found  in  the  fact  that  it 
did  produce  a  considerable  influence  in  softening  the  man- 
ners of  the  age.  Despotic  governments  are  marked  by  great 
politeness  and  refinement  of  manners.*  Where  fear  per- 
vades all  hearts  and  minds,  habits  of  restraint  are  easily  ac- 
quired, and  the  rougher  exhibitions  of  human  nature  are  not 
suffered  to  exhibit  themselves.  In  the  circles  first  of  the 
feudal  lord,  and  of  the  subsequent  noble,  all  were  under  the 
influence  of  some  restraint,  and  hence  the  softening  of  man- 
ners and  the  originating  among  the  common  people  of 
customs  and  usages  less  gross  and  revolting. 

Another  result,  or  outgrowth  of  the  feudal  system,  is  to 
be  found  in  the  habits  of  fidelity  which  were  formed  under 
it.  "  The  relation  of  lord  and  vassal  taught  to  the  one  party 
the  duty  of  protecting  the  weak,  and  to  the  other  that  of 
repaying  protection  with  allegiance."^  In  the  previous 
history  of  the  world  not  only  had  been  manifested  cruelty 
and  oppression,  but  also  treachery,  frequently  in  its  most 
repulsive  forms.  In  grand  contrast  with  all  previous  forms 
of  government,  the  feudal  system  rested  its  very  existence 
upon  the  exercise  of  good  faith  between  man  and  man. 
The  feudal  lord  imposed  upon  himself  the  duty  of  protec- 
tion, and  the  vassal  that  of  obedience.  The  one  was  the 
condition  of  the  other,  and  good  faith  the  essential  bond  of 
both.  To  this  principle,  thus  implanted,  we  undoubtedly 
stand  largely  indebted  for  the  elevated  tone  of  moral  feel- 
ing in  modern  times,  which  has  operated  to  refine  the  sen- 
timents of  men  and  to  implant  in  them  a  strong  sense  of 
personal  honor.     This  also,  together  with  the  warlike  ten- 


'  Brougham ,  321.    "  Idsm,  324. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


65 


dencies  of  the  age,  the  disorders  of  the  times,  the  protection 
of  the  weak  against  the  strong,  and  the  feeling  of  gallantry 
that  began  to  actuate  the  stronger  sex,  gave  birth  to  the 
institution  of  chivalry,  and  to  the  manners  and  customs  of 
that  peculiar  age. 

in.  Society  as  it  existed  in  the  Age  of  Chivalry, 

The  curious  institution  of  chivalry  has  been  reserved  to 
this  time  and  place  because  it  belongs  more  strictly  to 
society  than  to  any  other  element.  In  its  origin,  however, 
it  had  little  to  do  with  anything  merely  social.  It  was  an 
outgrowth  from  early  Teutonic  customs,  modified  by  the 
feudal  system. 

The  early  customs  of  the  German  nations  forbade  any 
one  to  bear  arms  unless  duly  admitted  to  that  privilege. 
As  the  road  to  honor  lay  only  through  the  use  of  arms, 
such  use  was  considered  too  important  a  privilege  to  be 
left  to  chance  or  the  choice  of  the  individual  himself.  The 
mode  of  admission  was  to  assemble  the  council  of  the  dis- 
trict to  which  the  candidate  belonged.  His  age  and  quali- 
fications were  then  inquired  into,  and  the  council  decided 
upon  the  application.*  If  the  decision  was  in  favor  of  his 
admission  to  the  privileges  of  a  soldier  or  chieftain,  the 
father,  or  some  one  of  his  kindred  adorned  him  with  the 
shield  and  the  lance.  This  act  was  equivalent  to  a  removal 
from  mere  domestic  concerns,  the  oflices  of  the  family 
and  a  dedication  of  him  to  the  public.  Henceforth,  he 
belonged  to  his  tribe,  and  could  participate  in  its  wars, 
its  customs  and  its  pastimes.  In  this  simple  ceremony  is 
discovered  much  of  what  subsequently  constituted  the 
feudal  investiture. 

In  confirmation  of  this,  it  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the 
institution  itself  in  its  perfection,  and  all  its  glory  and 
extravagances,  existed  only  among  the  German  tribes,  or 


^Stuart,  47- 


i 


itti 


iMMM 


■•Ma 


MMI 


56 


HISTORY  OP  CIVILIZATION. 


those  in  which  they  so  largely  mingled  as  to  impregnate 
them  with  the  Teutonic  spirit.  In  Italy,  for  example,  where 
a  different  civilization  already  prevailed,  modifying  essen- 
tially that  spirit  when  it  was  introduced,  chivalry  was  never 
fully  developed.  It  had,  however,  a  large  theatre  upon 
which  it  displayed  itself  with  varying  degrees  of  power. 
Germany,  the  Scandinavian  nations,  England,  France  and 
Spain,  all  witnessed  its  exhibitions  and  felt  its  effects. 

The  more  direct  and  immediate  origin  of  chivalry  may 
probably  be  traced  to  the  feudal  system.  That  system 
we  have  seen  to  be  one  of  isolation,  at  least  in  its  origin. 
The  castle  sat  frowning  upon  its  solitary  crag  with  few 
immates  except  the  family,  the  wife  and  children  of  the 
suzerain.  The  more  wealthy  of  that  class,  those  having 
large  domains,  soon  became  desirous  of  making  the  castle 
the  home  of  a  more  extended  society,  and  of  one  too  whose 
tastes  were  more  in  harmony  with  their  own.  Hence  the 
habit  of  having  constantly  about  them  numbers  of  retain- 
ers, whose  relations  with  the  suzerain  were  more  social 
than  feudjil.  These  were  made  up  very  generally  of  ambi- 
tious young  men,  often  the  sons  of  their  vassals,  who  were 
always  ready  for  the  feast  and  festival,  and  also  to  do  and 
dare  whatever  their  superior  chose  to  direct.  The  vassal, 
it  is  true,  owed  his  military  services  to  his  suzerain  when 
called  upon,  but  the  necessity  of  devotion  to  agriculture 
soon  made  him  a  better  farmer  than  soldier,  the  cultivation 
of  excellence  in  each  being  in  the  inverse  ratio  to  each 
other.  That  change  was  progressing  in  society  which  by 
slow  but  sure  degrees  separates  from  each  other  the  great 
departments  of  human  effort,  making  the  former  and  the 
soldier  two  distinct  beings.  The  one  cultivated  his  farm, 
the  other  frequented  the  castle. 

Arriving  at  the  end  of  the  tenth,  or  the  middle  of  the 
eleventh  century,  we  find  the  castle  of  the  great  suzerains 
the  home  of  quite  a  busy  population.  A  little  court  there 
sits  and  dispenses  justice.  A  train  of  officers  there  present 
themselves.    The  count  of  the  palace,  the  seneschal,  the  mar- 


.J. 


\ 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


57 


shal,  the  cup-bearers,^  chamberlains,  butlers,  porters,  falcon- 
ers, etc.,  were  borrowed  from  the  empire;  and  in  addition 
there  were  pages,  varlets,  grooms,  and  squires  of  the  body, 
the  chamber,  the  stable,  the  pantry,  etc.,  all  offices  of  newer 
creation.  These  offices  were  most  of  them  given  in  fief,  like 
lands,  thus  carrying  the  feudal  principle  into  the  very  bosom 
of  domestic  life.  This  implies,  of  course,  that  those  upon 
whom  they  are  bestowed  are  freemen,  otherwise  there 
would  be  no  power  to  consent  to  receive  the  fiefs  and  un- 
dertake to  perform  the  conditions  upon  which  they  were 
bestowed.  The  sons  of  their  vassals  were  those  who  were 
the  more  generally  the  recipients  of  these  gifts.  By  these 
means  the  large  lauded  proprietors,  ecclesiastics  as  well  as 
laymen,  surrounded  themselves  with  a  numerous  train. 

This  originated  the  same  contest  in  the  bosom  of  the 
castle  as  we  have  seen  going  on  in  the  feudal  village,  without, 
viz :  that  in  relation  to  inheritance,  the  sou  claiming  by  in- 
heritance the  office  of  the  father,  and  the  suzerain  insisting 
that  it  was  simply  a  life  estate.  The  result  was  that  although 
in  some  few  cases  they  became  hereditary,  yet  the  instances 
are  of  much  more  unfrequent  occurrence  than  in  the  case 
of  landed  fiefs. 

The  result  of  all  these  facts  was,  that,  the  castle  becoming 
the  theatre  of  so  many  attractions,  it  became  a  very  desir- 
able object  for  the  more  ambitious  sons  of  the  vassals  to 
become  its  inmates,  and  to  hold  its  offices.  A  new  tie  was 
thus  created  between  the  suzerain  and  the  vassal,  and  this 
was  of  a  continuance  corresponding  with  that  of  the  new 
relations  that  had  grown  up  between  the  former  and  the  son 
of  the  latter. 

Having  shown  in  what  manner  the  castle  naturally 
became  the  resort  of  ambitious  young  men  desirous  of 
devoting  themselves  to  the  interests  of  its  proprietor,  and 
to  carve  out  their  own  fortunes  through  his  influence,  no- 
thing now  remained  but  the  resuscitation  of  an  old  German 


Ouizot,  rv,  11. 
VI] 


8 


68 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


usage  to  produce  in  its  original  form,  the  knight  of 
chivalry.  That  was  the  custom  before  alluded  to,  of  ad- 
mitting the  young  man  to  the  privilege  of  bearing  arms. 
This  custom  followed  the  German,  and  was  perpetuated 
upon  the  Roman  territory  after  the  invasion.  An  illustrious 
instance  of  this  occurred  at  Ratisbon,  in  791,  when  Charle- 
magne solemnly  (in  the  language  of  the  old  chronicler), 
girt  the  sword  about  his  son  Louis  le  Debonaire;  and 
another  in  838  when  the  latter  conferred  the  same  honor,^ 
with  the  same  solemnity,  upon  his  eon  Charles  le  Chauve. 
In  the  eleventh  century,  in  the  feudal  castle,  when  the  son 
of  the  lord  arrived  at  the  age  of  manhood,  the  same  cere- 
mony was  performed.  The  sword  was  girded  on,  and  the 
son  declared  admitted  to  the  rank  of  warrior. 

N"or  was  it  upon  the  son  of  the  suzerain  alone  that  this 
honor  was  conferred.  The  sons  of  his  vassals  who  were  the 
frequenters  of  the  castle,  enjoying  its  privileges,  and  perhaps 
holding  its  offices,  were  also  eligible  to  the  same  distinction. 
The  ceremony  was  performed  in  the  court  of  the  castle, 
which  in  this  respect  replaced  the  council  of  the  district. 

The  result  of  this  ceremony  was  the  same  as  among  the 
ancient  Germans.  By  delivering  to  the  aspirant  the  arms 
and  titles  of  the  warlike  life,  it  was  an  admission  to  the 
rank  and  honors  of  warriors. 

All  this,  it  is  true,  creates  no  strictly  feudal  tie  between 
the  suzerain  and  the  recipient  of  the  privilege.  JSTo  obli- 
gation of  protection  on  the  one  hand,  or  of  obedience  on  the 
other,  flows  from  it.  And  yet  the  suzerain,  in  arming  a 
young  man  knight,  accepted  him,  in  a  manner,  for  his 
man,2  and  declared  that  he  should  one  day  be  his  vassal. 
It  was  like  an  investiture  given  in  advance,  anticipating, 
in  the  future,  the  creation  of  feudal  homage. 

Thus  we  have  the  origin  of  chivalry,  but  it  was  only  the 
origin.  We  have  the  admission  to  the  rank  of  warrior, 
but  only  to  a  general,  not  a  special  one.     It  required  other 

^aumt,iv,W,    ^  Idem,  17. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


69 


influences,  feelings  and  facts,  to  develop  fully  this  peculiar 
institution. 

It  owed  its  origin  entirely  to  the  military  spirit ;  but, 
once  in  existence,  "  religion  and  imagination,  the  church 
and  poetry,  took  possession  of  it,  and  made  it  a  powerful 
means  of  attaining  the  ends  which  they  pursued,  and  of  ful- 
filling the  moral  needs  which  it  was  their  mission  to 
satisfy."  Society  also  came  in  with  its  claim,  and  de- 
manded the  employment  of  its  agency,  in  the  advancement 
of  itself.  Thus  chivalry,  fully  developed,  will  be  found 
to  embrace  the  following  elements  of  character :  1.  The 
warlike  spirit.  2.  A  lofty  devotion  to  the  female  sex.  3. 
An  undefinable  thirst  for  glory,  connected  with  feudal  in- 
dependence. 4.  Elevation  above  the  drudgery  of  daily  toil. 
5.  An  uniformity  of  character  and  purpose  inspired  by  the 
influence  of  a  common  religion.  From  the  great  import- 
ance possessed  by  these  elements  of  character,  it  is  obvious 
that  the  education  of  the  future  knight  could  not  well  be 
neglected. 

One  of  the  great  beauties  of  chivalry  was  its  accessi- 
bility. Every  descendant  of  a  gentleman,  every  free  born 
person,  could  bear  arms  and  aspire  to  knighthood ;  but  a 
train  of  services  was  required  to  fit  him  for  acting  in  that 
capacity.  From  an  early  period  in  his  life,  he  was  an 
inmate  of  the  castle,  and  an  attendant  upon  the  court  of 
his  lord.  Here  he  was  supposed  to  learn  all  the  knightly 
virtues  :  "  The  emulation  of  his  equals,  the  example  and 
admonitions  of  his  chief,  and  the  company  of  the  ladies, 
from  whose  number  he  was  to  select  the  accomplished  fair 
one,  to  whom  he  was  to  ascribe  all  his  sentiments  and  his 
actions,  inflamed  in  him  the  passion  for  war,  infused  into 
his  mind  a  zeal  for  religion,  and  instructed  him  in  all  the 
arts  of  a  respectful  gallantry."  ^  From  performing  domes- 
tic duties,  he  was  called  to  the  management  of  horses  and 
of  armor. 


^Stuart,  57. 


58 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


usage  to  produce  io  its  original  form,  the  knight  of 
chivalry.  That  was  the  custom  hefore  alluded  to,  of  ad- 
mitting the  young  man  to  the  privilege  of  bearing  arms. 
This  custom  followed  the  German,  and  was  pei^etuated 
upon  the  Roman  territory  after  the  invasion.  An  illustrious 
instance  of  this  occurred  at  Ratisbon,  in  791,  when  Charle- 
magne solemnly  (in  the  language  of  the  old  chronicler), 
girt  the  sword  about  his  son  Louis  le  Debonaire;  and 
another  in  838  when  the  latter  conferred  the  same  honor,^ 
with  the  same  solemnity,  upon  his  son  Charles  le  Chauve. 
In  the  eleventh  century,  in  the  feudal  castle,  when  the  son 
of  the  lord  arrived  at  the  age  of  manhood,  the  same  cere- 
mony was  performed.  The  sword  was  girded  on,  and  the 
son  declared  admitted  to  the  rank  of  warrior. 

l!^or  was  it  upon  the  son  of  the  suzerain  alone  that  this 
honor  was  conferred.  The  sons  of  his  vassals  who  were  the 
frequenters  of  the  castle,  enjoying  its  privileges,  and  perhaps 
holding  its  offices,  were  also  eligible  to  the  same  distinction. 
The  ceremony  was  performed  in  the  court  of  the  castle, 
which  in  this  respect  replaced  the  council  of  the  district. 

The  result  of  this  ceremony  was  the  same  as  among  the 
ancient  Germans.  Bj  delivering  to  the  aspirant  the  arms 
and  titles  of  the  warlike  life,  it  was  an  admission  to  the 
rank  and  honors  of  warriors. 

All  this,  it  is  true,  creates  no  strictly  feudal  tie  between 
the  suzerain  and  the  recipient  of  the  privilege.  No  obli- 
gation of  protection  on  the  one  hand,  or  of  obedience  on  the 
other,  flows  from  it.  And  yet  the  suzerain,  in  arming  a 
young  man  knight,  accepted  him,  in  a  manner,  for  his 
man,2  and  declared  that  he  should  one  day  be  his  vassal. 
It  was  like  an  investiture  given  in  advance,  anticipating, 
in  the  future,  the  creation  of  feudal  homage. 

Thus  we  have  the  origin  of  chivalry,  but  it  was  only  the 
origin.  We  have  the  admission  to  the  rank  of  warrior, 
but  only  to  a  general,  not  a  special  one.     It  required  other 

'  Gumtj  IV,  16.    '  Idem,  17. 


I. 


M 


i 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


59 


influences,  feelings  and  facts,  to  develop  fully  this  peculiar 
institution. 

It  owed  its  origin  entirely  to  the  military  spirit ;  but, 
once  in  existence,  "  religion  and  imagination,  the  church 
and  poetry,  took  possession  of  it,  and  made  it  a  powerful 
means  of  attaining  the  ends  which  they  pursued,  and  of  ful- 
filling the  moral  needs  which  it  was  their  mission  to 
satisfy."  Society  also  came  in  with  its  claim,  and  de- 
manded the  employment  of  its  agency,  in  the  advancement 
of  itself.  Thus  chivalry,  fully  developed,  will  be  found 
to  embrace  the  following  elements  of  character :  1.  The 
warlike  spirit.  2.  A  lofty  devotion  to  the  female  sex.  3. 
An  undefinable  thirst  for  glory,  connected  with  feudal  in- 
dependence. 4.  Elevation  above  the  drudgery  of  daily  toil. 
5.  An  uniformity  of  character  and  purpose  inspired  by  the 
influence  of  a  common  religion.  From  the  great  import- 
ance possessed  by  these  elements  of  character,  it  is  obvious 
that  the  education  of  the  future  knight  could  not  well  be 
neglected. 

One  of  the  great  beauties  of  chivalry  was  its  accessi- 
bility. Every  descendant  of  a  gentleman,  every  free  born 
person,  could  bear  arms  and  aspire  to  knighthood ;  but  a 
train  of  services  was  required  to  fit  him  for  acting  in  that 
capacity.  From  an  early  period  in  his  life,  he  was  an 
inmate  of  the  castle,  and  an  attendant  upon  the  court  of 
his  lord.  Here  he  was  supposed  to  learn  all  the  knightly 
virtues  :  "  The  emulation  of  his  equals,  the  example  and 
admonitions  of  his  chief,  and  the  company  of  the  ladies, 
from  whose  number  he  was  to  select  the  accomplished  fair 
one,  to  whom  he  was  to  ascribe  all  his  sentiments  and  his 
actions,  inflamed  in  him  the  passion  for  war,  infused  into 
his  mind  a  zeal  for  religion,  and  instructed  him  in  all  the 
arts  of  a  respectful  gallantry."  ^  From  performing  domes- 
tic duties,  he  was  called  to  the  management  of  horses  and 
of  armor. 


^Stuart,  57. 


60 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


The  character,  or  station,  which  preceded  knighthood, 
was  that  of  armor  bearer.^  The  candidate  for  chivalry 
had  formerly  been  a  page  or  valet;  but  these  terms  were 
not  then,  as  now,  expressive  of  meanness  and  low  condi- 
tion. 

The  age  of  knighthood  probably  varied  with  the  nature 
and  weight  of  the  arms  which  were  in  use  at  different 
periods.  That  of  twenty-one  years  has  in  general  been 
fixed  upon,  but  it  admitted  of  easy  departure,  in  favor  of 
signal  merit  or  high  birth.  The  novitiate  commenced  in 
the  seventh  year ;  an  early  period  to  direct  attention  to  the 
art  of  war,  the  mistress,  or  catechism. 

When  the  time  of  knighting  arrived,  the  candidate  was 
first  bathed,  as  a  symbol  of  purification.  He  was  then 
clothed :  1st.  In  a  white  tunic,  a  symbol  of  purity.  2d.  In 
a  red  robe,  a  symbol  of  the  blood  he  was  bound  to  shed 
in  the  service  of  the  faith.^  3d.  In  a  saga,  or  close  black 
coat,  a  symbol  of  the  death  which  awaited  him  in  common 
with  all  men. 

The  next  act  was  to  observe  a  rigorous  fast  for  twenty- 
four  hours,  then  to  pass  the  night  in  prayers  in  a  church. 
The  day  following,  was  his  confession,  absolution,  and  the 
administration  to  him  of  the  eucharist.  Then  approach- 
ing the  altar,  he  placed  his  sword  upon  it,  which  the  priest 
returned  to  him  with  his  benedictions. 

Kext  followed  the  knightly  equipments,  with  which  he 
was  armed.  These  were : '  1.  The  spurs.  2.  The  hau- 
berk, or  coat  of  mail.  3.  The  cuirass.  4.  The  vam- 
braces  and  gauntlets.     5.  The  sword. 

Thus  equipped,  the  lord  or  superior,  gave  him  the  acco- 
lade, that  is,  three  blows  with  the  flat  of  the  sword  on  his 
shoulder  or  nape  of  the  neck,  by  which  he  was  dubbed 
a  knight.  His  helmet  and  horse  were  then  brought  to 
him,  and  those,  together  with  his  lance,  furnished  his  com- 
plete equipment. 


'  Stuart,  299.    '  Guizot,  iv,  30.    "  Id&m,  21 . 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


61 


Before  entering  the  career  of  knighthood  several  oaths 
were  to  be  taken.  Among  these  were  the  oath  ;  To  fear, 
revere,  and  serve  God,  and  the  sovereign  prince.  To 
maintain  the  just  right  of  the  weak.  To  obey  the  orders 
of  their  generals,  and  captains,  and  to  observe  the  honor, 
rank,  and  order  of  their  companions.  To  keep  faith  in- 
violably with  all  the  world,  and  particularly  with  their 
companions.  To  love,  honor,  and  succor  each  other.  To 
serve,  protect,  and  save,  from  all  danger  and  insult,  a  lady 
or  maiden.  To  be  faithful,  courteous,  humble,  and  never 
fail  in  their  word,  for  any  ill  or  loss  that  might  thence 
happen  to  them. 

The  true  knight  who  lived  up  to  his  oaths  and  under- 
takings, was  a  character  held  in  great  estimation.  He  was 
in  the  enjoyment  of  very  special  privileges.  He  was  ad- 
mitted to  the  company  and  tables  of  the  nobles  and  sove- 
reign.^ He  could  surpass  others  in  the  richness  of  his  dress 
and  arms,  being  permitted  to  wear  fur,  gold,  and  silk. 
He  was  distinguished  in  his  own  order  by  his  ensigns, 
armorial,  and  the  peculiarities  of  his  blazonry.  He  enjoyed 
certain  privileges  in  hunting;  neither  his  horse  nor  armor 
could  be  taken  in  executions  for  debt;  the  courts,  in  his 
favor,  awarded  fines  beyond  the  usual  proportion  to  com- 
pensate his  wrongs ;  and,  when  taken  prisoner,  his  rank 
preserved  him  from  unworthy  or  ignominious  treatment. 
Presents  and  pensions  awarded  his  prowess.  He  was  en- 
riched both  by  the  spoils  of  the  enemy,  and  by  the  ransoms 
of  his  captives.  His  usual  appearance  was  on  horse-back, 
attended  by  his  squire;  and  if  he  could  afford  it,  he  could 
have  knights  in  his  train,  using  a  banner  or  a  standard  like 
the  barons.  As  the  chief  strength  of  armies  consisted,  at 
this  time,  of  cavalry,  the  skillful  management  of  a  horse  was 
one  of  the  great  accomplishments  of  a  knight  or  warrior. 

Although  the  knight  was  bound  to  defend  the  state  and 
advance  the  reputation  of  his  chief,  yet  the  praise  of  his 


*  Stuart,  59. 


:^ 


I,  } 


I 


62 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


mistress  was  the  spring  of  his  valor,  and  the  source  of  his 
activity.  To  her  consecrated  all  his  trophies.  Her  form 
was  ever  present  to  his  mind,  her  wish  the  inspiration  to 
his  every  action.  His  enterprise,  courage,  renown,  pro- 
claimed the  power  and  fame  of  her  perfections. 

All  this  could  not  M\  of  acting  strongly  upon  the  deli- 
cate susceptibilities  of  the  female  mind.  Woman  felt  her 
power  and  dominion.  The  rivalship  of  beauty  unfolded  all 
its  excellence  and  charms.  "  The  respectful  intercourse 
they  held  with  the  knights,  the  adoration  paid  to  them,  the 
tournaments  at  which  they  presided,  the  virtues  they  in- 
spired, the  exploits  achieved  to  their  honor,  all  concurred  to 
promote  their  elevation  and  lustre.  To  their  enamored 
votaries  they  seemed  to  be  divinities ;  and  toils,  conflicts, 
and  blood  purchased  their  favor,  and  their  smiles." 

Thus  aroused,  and  stimulated  by  every  motive  to  eftbrt, 
not  only  womanly  graces  and  sensibilities  were  developed, 
but  the  higher  powers  of  mind  and  stronger  elements  of 
character  were  frequently  brought  out  and  displayed. 
"  Concerned  in  great  aftairs,  they  were  agitated  with  great 
passions.  They  partook  in  the  greatness  they  communi- 
cated. Their  softness  mingled  with  courage,  their  sensi- 
bility with  pride.  With  tlie  characteristics  of  their  own 
sex,  they  blended  those  of  the  other." 

In  the  stirring  events  of  the  time,  they  took  a  large 
share  of  interest.  Acts  of  generosity,  enterprise,  and 
valor;  the  events  of  public  and  private  wars,  employed 
much  of  their  thought  and  conversation.  In  all  their 
seasons  of  festivity,  more  especially  in  the  jousts  and  tour- 
naments, where  mimic  battles  were  fought  in  time  of 
peace,  the  ladies  largely  interested  themselves.  These 
jousts  and  tournaments  may  be  well  claimed  as  the  culmi- 
nating points  of  chivalry. 

The  only  institutions  to  which  they  bear  any  striking 
analogy,  are  the  Olympic  games  of  ancient  Greece,  and  to 


Stuart,  61. 


! 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


63 


1)^ 


i 


these  they  were,  in  many  respects,  decidedly  superior. 
The  sight  of  naked  racers,  wrestlers,  and  boxers  must  have 
tended  to  corrupt  the  manners  of  the  Greeks,  and  contrast 
most  unfavorably  with  the  splendid  decorations  of  the 
knights,  armed  in  complete  panoply,  and  reflecting  the 
highest  military  and  social  attainments  of  the  age.  A  cor- 
responding elevation  is  to  be  found  in  the  nature  of  the 
contests.  Instead  of  running,  wrestling,  and  boxing,  the 
jousl  and  tournament  presented  an  impressive  image  of 
the  real  business  of  the  field.  "  The  single  combat,  the 
general  skirmish,  the  defense  of  a  pass  or  castle,  were 
rehearsed  as  in  actual  service ;  and  the  contest,  both  in 
real  and  mimic  war,  was  decided  by  the  superior  manage- 
ment of  the  horse  and  lance." 

The  diflerence  between  the  joust  and  the  tournament 
was,  that  the  former  consisted  in  single  combats  between 
two  knights,  while  the  latter  was  performed  between  two 
parties  of  cavaliers.  Again,  the  diflference  between  the 
greater  and  the  lesser  tournaments  was,  that  the  former 
were  those  given  by  sovereigns  and  princes,  to  which 
knights  were  invited  from  every  part  of  Europe,  and  the 
latter,  those  given  by  the  barons. 

Of  these  tournaments  we  have  the  most  magnificent 
description.  "Judges  were  appointed  to  determine  in 
them,^  and  to  maintain  the  laws  of  chivalry.  They  were 
generally  selected  from  among  the  aged  knights,  who 
came  in  crowds  to  live  over  again  the  scenes  they  had 
acted,  and  to  encourage  and  direct  the  intrepidity  and 
skill  of  the  aspiring  youth.  The  combatants  entered  the 
lists  slowly,  and  with  a  grave  and  majestic  air,  pronounced 
aloud  the  names  of  the  ladies  to  whom  they  had  vowed 
their  hearts  and  their  homage.  This  privilege  they  ob- 
tained at  the  expense  of  many  a  gallant  achievement,  and 
they  were  presented  by  the  fair  ones  with  a  ribbon,  a 
bracelet,  a  veil,  or  some  detached  ornament  of  their  dress. 


^  Stuart,  Q2. 


64 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


65 


which  they  affixed  to  their  helmets  or  their  shields,  and  con- 
sidered as  the  pledges  of  victory.  This  present  was  called 
faveur  ;  and  long  afterwards,  even  to  the  present  day, 
pieces  of  lace  or  ribbon  are  sometimes  distributed  at  mar- 
riages, and  are  termed  brides'  favors. 

"Every  signal  advantage  won  in  the  conflicts,  was  pro- 
claimed by  the  instruments  of  the  minstrels,  and  the  voices 
of  the  heralds.  Animated  by  the  presence  of  the  ladies,  by 
the  sense  of  their  former  renown,  and  of  that  of  their  ances- 
tors, the  champions  displayed  the  most  brilliant  feats  of 
activity,  address,  and  valor.  And  the  ladies,  entering  into 
their  agitations,  felt  the  ardors  of  emulation,  and  the  trans- 
ports of  glory. 

"  On  the  completion  of  the  tournament  the  prizes  were 
distributed  with  a  ceremonious  impartiality.  The  officers 
who  tad  been  appointed  to  observe  every  circumstance 
which  passed  in  the  conduct  of  the  combatants,  made 
their  reports  to  the  judges.  The  suffrages  of  the  spectators 
were  collected.  After  serious  deliberation,  in  which  the 
most  celebrated  personages,  who  were  present,  were  proud 
to  assist,  the  names  of  the  conquerors  were  pronounced. 
Ladies  were  then  chosen,  who  were  to  present  to  them  the 
symbols  of  victory  ;  and  in  these  fortunate  moments,  they 
were  permitted  to  imprint  a  kiss  on  the  lips  of  these  fair 
disposers  of  renown. 

"Amidst  the  contending  praise  of  the  judges  and  the 
knights,  the  music  of  war,  and  the  shouts  of  the  people, 
the  victors  were  now  conducted  to  the  palace  of  the  prince 
or  the  noble  who  exhibited  the  tournament.  There,  at 
the  feast,  which  concluded  their  triumph,  they  were  ex- 
posed to  the  keen  look,  and  the  impassioned  admiration 
of  whatever  was  most  accomplished  in  beauty  and  in  arms. 
And,  in  the  height  of  a  glory,  in  which  they  might  well  have 
forgot  that  they  were  mortal,  they  employed  themselves 
to  console  the  knights  they  had  vanquished,  and  ascribed 
their  success  to  fortune  not  to  valor ;  displaying  a  demeanor 
complacent  and  gentle,  disarming  envy  by  modesty,  and 


t 


enhancing  greatness  by  generous  sympathy  and  magnani- 
mous condescension." 

Thus  glorious  and  exalted  in  many  of  its  brighter  as- 
pects was  the  age  of  chivalry.  It  was  the  age  of  activity, 
of  heroism,  of  romance,  and  of  gallantry.  From  the 
eleventh  century  its  ceremonies,  duties,  and  adventures, 
constituted  the  mine  whence  poetry  derived  its  materials 
to  charm  the  people,  excite  the  imagination,  and  elevate 
the  aims  and  purposes  of  life.^ 

All  these  incentives  to  love  and  glory  were  advanced  and 
inspirited  by  religion.  To  defend  Christianity  with  his 
sword  and  his  life  became  a  sacred  vow,  to  which  every 
knight  was  ambitious  to  submit.  He  considered  himself  a 
saint  as  well  as  hero,  and  was  ever  ready  to  encounter  any 
peril  in  defending  the  church  or  carrying  warfare  against 
its  enemies. 

Another  stimulus  was  afforded  in  the  opportunity  of 
redressing  wrongs,  by  which  the  sense  of  justice  was  in- 
vigorated. The  age  of  chivalry  occurred  in  a  period  of 
disorder  and  confusion.  It  was  a  part  of  knighthood  to 
vindicate  the  wrongs  of  the  injured.  The  weak  and  the 
oppressed,  the  orphan  and  the  widow,  had  always  a  special 
claim  upon  the  knight.  To  disobey  their  call,  was  to  in- 
fringe a  law  of  chivalry,  to  incur  dishonor  and  infamy. 
The  introduction  of  such  an  element,  the  thrusting  of  such 
a  moral  force  into  an  age  of  violence  and  oppression,  as- 
serting everywhere  tlic  right,  redressing  everywhere  the 
wrong,  clothing  force  with  a  moral  purpose,  and  sending 
it  on  a  moral  mission,  produced  a  mighty  effisct  upon  the 
social  progress  of  that  and  all  subsequent  ages. 

So  very  strong  did  this  motive  become,  and  so  powerfully 
did  the  ardor  of  redressing  wrongs  seize  upon  many 
knights,^  that  attended  by  their  squires,  they  actually 
wandered  about  in  search  of  objects  whose  misfortunes  and 
misery  required  their  assistance  and  succor.     As  the  ladies 


'  aiiizot,  TV,  25.    =•  Stuart,  308. 
VI]  9 


66 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


engaged  more  particularly  tlieir  attention,  tlie  relief  of  un- 
fortunate damsels  was  the  achievement  tliey  most  courted. 
This  gave  rise  to  knight-errantry,  and  to  all  those  adven- 
tures that  make  up  so  much  of  the  roma!ice  of  that  period. 

"  Thus  war,  devotion,  and  gallantry  all  conspired  to  form 
the  character  of  the  true  knight.^  And  these  manners,  so 
lofty  and  so  romantic,  were  for  ages  to  give  a  splendor  to 
Europe  by  directing  the  fortunes  of  its  nations,  and  by 
producing  examples  of  magnanimity  and  valor,  which  are 
unequaled  in  the  annals  of  mankind."  The  efficacy  of 
these  was  the  most  fully  displayed  in  communicating  to 
society  a  higher  and  purer  tone.  "  The  spirit  of  humanity 
which  has  been  progressing  both  in  periods  of  war  and  of 
peace  ;  the  gallantry  prevailing  in  our  conversations  and 
private  intercourse;  the  point  of  honor  which  corrects  the 
violence  of  the  passions,  by  improving  our  delicacy,  and 
sense  of  propriety  and  decorum,  and,  by  teaching  us  the 
importance  of  otliers,  makes  us  value  our  own  ;  all  these 
have  grown  out  of  chivalry,  and  discriminate  the  modern 
from  the  ancient  world." 

By  thus  bringing  the  two  sexes  of  the  higher  portions  of 
society  together  both  were  mutually  improved.  The 
knio-ht  was  perhaps  the  most  l)eiiefited.  Not  only  did  it 
add  graces  to  external  behavior,  but  it  also  improved 
Ms  natural  sensibility  and  tenderness.  To  him  the  lady 
was  the  embodiment  of  perfection.  ]^o  rude  liand  could, 
with  impunity,  invade  her  possessions  ;  no  unruly  tongue 
slander  her  character.  The  roughness  of  war  was  smoothed 
over  with  politeness.  The  knightly  courtesy  more  espe- 
cially practiced  in  the  castle  was  extended  to  all  the  l)usi- 
ness  and  intercourse  of  civil  life.  Elegance  of  manners 
became  an  especial  object  of  study.  Generosity  and 
delicate  attentions  to  the  vanquished  shone  conspicuous 
among  the  knightly  virtues.  E"o  indecent  joy,  or  brutal 
ferocity,  disgraced  his  triumphs.     His   rank,   duties  and 


Stuart,  G6. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


67 


cares  all  urged  upon  him  the  necessity  of  aiming  at  the 
perfection  of  virtue.  He  ever  possessed  the  most  scrupu- 
lous adherence  to  truth  and  justice.  Even  the  utterance 
of  a  fiilsehood  was  punished  by  degradation  from  knight- 
hood. The  act  of  degradation  was  accomplished  by  the 
solemn  taking  away  of  tlie  sword,^  the  cutting  of  the  spurs, 
the  tearing  from  the  body  the  coat  of  arms,  and  the  bruis- 
ing every  piece  of  the  knight's  armor. 

But  while  we  are  thus  exhibiting  the  bright  side  of 
chivalry,  we  should  not  be  unmindful  of  the  fact  that  the 
age  in  wliich  it  flourished  was  one  of  great  dissoluteness  in 
morals,  and  that  even  knighthood  itself  has  its  dark,  and 
its  ridiculous,  as  well  as  its  bright  side.     In  courts  and  in 
large  cities,  more  especially,  an  extreme  degree  of  licentious- 
ness was  practiced.     Prostitutes  formed  a  particular  class, 
enjoying  governmental  protection,^  paying  distinct  taxes, 
and  possessing  the  right  of  proceeding  at  law  against  all 
those   who   undertook  to  follow  the  profession,  without 
being  admitted  to  the  freedom  of  the  sisterhood.     The  first 
magistrates  of  London  and  other  cities  kept  public  brothels. 
At  the  feast  of  fools,  during  the  Christmas  holidays,  from 
the  eleventh  to  the  sixteenth   century,  it  was  the  custom 
through   large  portions  of  Europe,  for  laymen  and  even 
ecclesiastics   to  dance  naked  in   the  streets  and   in    the 
churches.     When   in   1461,  Louis  XI  entered  Paris,  its 
inhabitants  selected  the  most  beautiful  damsels  of  their 
city,  who,  in  the  character  of  sirens,  sung,  quite  naked,  all 
kinds  of  pastoral  compositions.     It  was  customary  to  dance 
naked  at  weddings,  and  at  the  balls  and  festivities  which 
accompanied  and  concluded  the  tournaments,  much  the 
same  exhibitions  were  made.     On  such  occasions  those 
passions,  at  all  times  possessing  great  strength  and  activity, 
were  inflamed  by  wine  ;  and  tliere  was  said  to  be  nothing 
which  the  knights  would  not  demand,  and  which  females 
of  the  highest  rank  were  not  prepared  to  grant.     Notwith- 

1  St  Mart,  :J1 1 .    *  Meinens's  Hilton/  of  the  Female  Sex,  i,  205. 


■«   i.,ai, 


68 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


.1 


staiidiug  the  knight's  oath  and  obligation  to  protect  females, 
nothing  was  niore  common  than  tlieir  persecution  and 
ravishment/  and  the  crimes  of  incest  and  adultery  were  ot 
frequent  commission.  Even  polgyamy  was  practiced,  and 
concubinage  was  so  universal  among  even  the  higher  ranks 
as  to  do  away  wnth  the  disgrace  of  illegitimate  birth. 

Amid  this  deplorable  state  of  morals  it  may  be  well 
doubted  whether  much  genuine  afiection,  attachment  and 
esteem  really  existed.  There  was  the  exterior  respect  for 
the  fair  sex,  and  also  the  atfectation  of  piety  and  valor,  and 
this  kept  increasing  until  the  commencement  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  But  their  piety  displayed  itself  in  fast- 
ing, castigation,  and  other  penances.  The  treasures  they 
squandered  in  tournaments  and  feasts  were  too  often  ob- 
tained from  rifled  churches  and  convents,  and  plundered 
merchants  and  travelers;  while  their  valor  and  courage 
were  less  displayed  in  the  defense  of  their  country  than  in 
oppressing  their  inferiors,  invading  their  equals,  rebelling 
against  their  superiors,  and  engaging  in  adventures  often 
romantic  and  ludicrous.  Many  of  the  knights  evinced 
little  fidelity  to  their  w4ves,  or  care  in  educating  their 
dausrhters,^  but  their  love  and  esteem  were  all  embraced 
in  empty  ostentation  and  ridiculous  extravagance.  Much 
of  the  incense  which  they  oflered  at  the  shrine  of  the 
female  sex  was  simply  the  result  of  custom,  habit  and  fiish- 
ion.     A  great  deal  was  apparent,  but  very  little  real. 

It  is,  however,  admitted  by  all,  that  in  every  country, 
and  in  every  age,  there  were  knights  who  conscientiously 
fulfilled  all  the  vows  they  took  upon  themselves,  ever  con- 
ducting themselves  as  living  patterns  of  every  knightly 
virtue.  So  also  at  every  period  were  there  high,  pure  and 
noble  minded  ladies,  who  endeavored,  and  successfully,  to 
render  themselves  worthy  of  the  esteem  of  such  knights. 
l^or  is  it  probable  that  the  examples  of  these  were  lost 
upon  the  thought  and  actions  of  others. 


'  Meirurs,  i,  207.    "  Mem,  212. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


69 


We  have  before  barely  alluded  to  knight-errants.     They 
were  coeval  with  chivalry,  and  in  some  sense  applied  to 
all  knights,  for  all  were,  more  or  less,  wandering  about  in 
pursuit   of   adventures.      The   term    came   to   be    more 
especially  applied   to   those  who,  by  command  of  their 
mistresses,  or   from   motives  of  gratitude,  or  to  render 
themselves  more  worthy  the  favor  of  the  fair,  and  to  exalt 
their  own  glory,  made  it  their  especial  business  to  travel 
into  foreign  countries,  and  with  sword  and  lance  to  main- 
tain the  superior  virtue  and  beauty  of  their  ladies,^  against  all 
expressing  a  doubt  upon  that  subject.     Among  them  were 
those  who  set  themselves  up  for  the  protectors  of  innocence 
and  the  deliverers  of  the  oppressed,  who  claimed  to  be  the 
descendants  and  rivals  of  the  knights  of  the  round  table. 
These  encountered  giants,  took  enchanted   castles,    and 
were  the  heroes  of  romance. 

The  amorous  knight-errants,  who  traveled  in  obedience 
to  the  commands  of  their  mistresses,  wore  green  armor, 
weapons,  and  apparel,  to  denote  the  verdure  of  their  youth^ 
and  the  flower  of  their  strength.  Their  expeditions  were 
generally  undertaken  in  obedience  to  certain  vows  which 
they  had,  in  moments  of  amorous  intoxication,  voluntarily 
placed  themselves  under,  or  which  their  mistresses  had 
required  of  them.  A  knight  of  Mantua  was  so  intoxicated 
at  being  selected  as  a  partner  for  a  dance,  by  Johanna, 
queen  of  Naples,  that  he  vowed  to  travel  in  Fnince,  Bur- 
gundy, England,  Spain,  Germany,  and  other  countries, 
until  he  had  vanquished  two  knights,  to  present  to  her 
as  slaves.  And  this  vow  he  actually  accomplished.  In 
another  instance,  the  mistress  had  the  cruelty  to  impose 
on  a  French  knight,  the  following :  -  She  promised  to  resign 
herself  to  him,  with  heart  and  hand,  and  to  place  her  for- 
tune at  his  disposal,  if  he  would  bring  lier  the  portraits  of 
thirty  foir  ladies,  whose  admirers  he  had  vanquished  out 
of  love  to  her.     The  knight  took  upon  him  the  vow,  and 

'  Meiners,  i.  228.    "  Idem,  237. 


W 


-r-r*- 


^    -»  "Mfc    ■     ■  1^    »  I  <»"  ^ 


f. 


70 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION, 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


71 


111  less  than  a  year,  returned  witli  tliirty  portraits  of  the 
mistresses  of  conquered  knights. 

The  extravagances  of  knight-erratitry  iinally  became  so 
great,  that  the  age  could  not  relish  tliem,  and  they  became 
a  subject  of  ridicule.  Don  Quixote  was  the  last  of  the 
knight-errants.  In  the  fourteenth  century  it  had  nearly 
died  out.  We  have,  however,  in  that  century,  a  descrip- 
tion of  one  who  called  at  the  castle  of  Alontbazon.^  He 
sounded  the  horn  before  the  great  gate  of  the  castle.  'No 
trumpeter  answered  from  within,  whicli  was  the  usual  cus- 
tom, and  he  turned  his  horse  and  departed.  The  pages  ran 
after  him  and  succeeded  in  bringing  him  back.  He  enters 
with  his  squire,  both  entirely  clotlied  with  plates  of  brass, 
making  much  the  same  noise  as  mules  loaded  with  copper 
utensils  ill  packed.  The  helmet  of  the  knight  being  taken 
off'  by  the  squire,  his  head  appeared  half  bald,  and  half 
sprinkled  with  white  hair,  his  left  eye  covered  with  a 
piece  of  green  cloth.  He  had  made  a  vow  to  see  only 
from  the  right  side,  and  to  eat  only  from  the  left,  until 
after  the  accomplishment  of  his  enter[)rise.  The  ladies 
proposing  that  he  should  refresh  liiraself,  his  only  answer 
was  to  throw  himself  at  their  feet,  swearing  to  them  all 
eternal  love,  saying,  that  although  his  arms  were  of  the  best 
temper,  they  could  not  defend  him  from  their  features  ; 
that  he  should  die  of  them,  that  he  felt  himself  dying,  that 
he  was  undone,  and  a  thousand  other  similar  fooleries. 
He  made  but  a  short  stay,  setting  out  some  hours  after. 

Even  the  joust  and  the  tournament  that  presented  so 
many  points  of  attraction  that  would  seem  to  insure  it  per- 
petuity, gradually  lost  their  hold  on  the  affections  of  men 
and  finally  died  out.  But  the  brilliant  fires  they  had  lit  up, 
especially  the  latter,  during  the  middle  ages,  were  difficult 
of  extinguishment.  The  tournament,  with  some  interrup- 
tions, was  continued  in  Sweden  dow^n  to  the  commence- 
ment of  the  present  century,  if  not  the  present  time.    "Every 


^Giiizot,  IV,  30. 


f\ 


year,"  says  Joseph  Acerbi,  of  the  date  of  1802,^  "  an  ex- 
hibition takes  place  at  Drottningholm,  at  the  king's  ex- 
pense, representing  a  tournament,  in  w^hich  all  the  laws  of 
chivalry  are  observed  with  the  greatest  exactness.  It  is 
generally  attended  by  an  immense  crowd  of  spectators. 
The  fete  lasted  several  days,  everything  being  attended  to 
which  belonged  to  the  ancient  tournaments.  The  prizes 
were  distributed  the  last  day  under  the  direction  of  the 
queen,  according  to  the  sentence  of  the  appointed  judges. 
The  knights  might  wear  upon  their  armor  the  ribbons  of 
favors  of  their  ladies.  The  ladies  might  propose  prizes  for 
which  the  knights  were  to  contend.  This  seems  to  be  the 
only  instance  in  which  this  once  popular  diversion  w-as 
restored  and  so  long  kept  up." 

A  beneficial  result  of  the  tournament  while  in  its  glory, 
has  not  yet  been  mentioned,  and  that  is  the  direct  inter- 
course between  the  different  nations  of  Europe,  which  the 
exhibition  of  it  produced.^  "  When  there  were  no  express 
prohibitions,  knights  followed  the  more  important  tourna- 
ments wherever  they  were  celebrated,  for  the  purpose  of 
studying  the  art  of  war,  and  that  they  might  find  signal 
and  proper  opportunities  of  distinguishing  themselveSj'and 
of  cultivating  the  friendship  and  acquaintance  of  illus- 
trious persons  of  both  sexes.  It  was  even  the  fashion  for 
knights  to  avoid  the  restraint  of  marriage  for  some  years 
after  their  installation  into  the  order,  that  they  might  con- 
secrate them  to  the  traveling  into  distant  countrfes,  and 
the  visiting  of  foreign  courts." 

The  spirit  of  chivalry  left  behind  it  a  worthy  successor. 
This  was  found  in  the  gentleman,  who  succeeded  the 
knight,  and  who  distinguishes  European  society  durino- 
the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,^  as  fully  as  the 
knight  did  the  preceding  ages.  In  his  composition,  we 
discern  the  same  jealous  sense  of  honor,  ceremonious  gal- 
lantry and  politeness,  high  pride  of  birth,  and  feeling  of 

'Acerbi'8  Travels,  i,  50.    ""Stuart,  303.    'Uallam,  519. 


72 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


independence,  together  with  a  sympathy  for  martial  honor, 
which  served  so  strongly  to  characterize  the  knight  during 
the  age  of  chivahy. 

IV.  Societi/  in  Europe  as  it  existed  in  the  Age  of  the  Trouba- 
dours, 

The  early  youth  of  nations  has  rarely  been  insensible  to 
the  magic  influence  of  poetry  and  song.  These,  especially 
the  latter, have  done  much  to  mould  the  character  of  every 
people.  The  power  of  song  is  felt  among  those  rude  na- 
tures who  have  never  attained  to  any  of  tlie  arts  of  civil- 
ized life.  It  is  precisely  those  who  stand  the  most  in  need 
of  its  softening,  humanizing  influences,  and  who  are  the 
most  aff'ected  l)y  it.  It  is  those  who  compose  the  songs 
and  ballads  of  a  nation,  and  not  those  who  enact  its  laws, 
who  give  it  its  direction,  and  are  the  most  responsible  for 
its  actions.  The  Marseillaise  hymn,  whether  falling  upon 
the  ear  in  the  silence  of  secluded  valleys,  or  sounding  forth 
its  terrible  notes  amid  the  thorough  fares  of  Paris,  has 
wrought  more  upon  the  hearts  of  Frenchmen,  than  all  the 
laws  or  acts  of  her  Bourbon  kings. 

But  it  is  in  the  infancy  or  early  youth  of  a  people,  ere 
criticism  has  issued  its  canons  so  rigidly  severe  as  to  freeze 
the  genial  currents  of  the  soul,  or  art  has  constructed  its 
rules  so  precise  and  definite,  as  to  fetter  every  outgrowth 
from  the  springs  of  feeling,  that  the  power  of  song  may 
be  expected  to  exert  its  largest  and  its  deepest  influence.  It 
is  then  that  the  heart  of  the  nation  beats  responsive  to  its 
notes.  It  is  then  that  its  every  tone  finds  in  every  heart, 
its  echo.  It  is  then  that  tlie  wliole  soul,  tremblingly  alive 
in  its  every  fibre,  is  held  spell-bound  beneath  an  influence 
that  floats  through  it  so  mysteriously.  There  are  few 
things  that  demonstrate  more  clearly  that  there  are  chords 
in  every  link  of  humanity's  lengthening  chain  that  vibrate 
to  a  common  influence,  than  this  wonderful  power  exer- 
cised by  poetry,  music,  and  song.      And  of  these,  the 


EUROPE —  ITS  SOCIETY. 


73 


latter  combines  the  two  former,  for  a  song  is  poetry  set  to 
music. 

The  age  of  chivalry  passed  not  away  with  the  armed 
knight  and  the  steel-clad  warrior ;  with  the  joust  and  the 
tournament;  with  all  its  fetes  and  extravagant  excesses. 
The  spirit  it  enkindled  in  the  hearts  of  men  was  pushed 
out  into  other  and  still  more  interesting  social  develop- 
ments. It  could  not  fully  perform  its  mission  without 
invoking  the  power  of  song.  This  brings  us  to  the  age  of 
the  troubadour,  the  most  beautiful  period  of  the  middle 
ages. 

The  name  is  derived  from  the  French  word  trouver, 
indicating  the  ease  of  their  poetry.  The  home  of  the 
troubadour  was  France,  a  part  of  upper  Italy,  and  the 
kingdoms  of  Catalonia  and  Arragon,  in  the  Spanish 
peninsula.  The  period  in  which  he  flourished  extends 
from  the  tenth  to  the  middle  of  the  thirteenth  century. 

Through   the  whole  of  the  middle  ages,  France  was 
divided  by  the  Loire  into  two  distinct  countries.     These 
were  marked  by  two  distinct  dialects;  the  one  the  langue 
d'oil,  the  Walloon  romance,  the  other,  the  langue  d'oc, 
the   Proven9al   romance.     Although   these    two    dialects 
owned  a  common  source,  yet  their  characters  were  marked 
by  strong  lines  of  diflerence.     The  Walloon  romance,  the 
mother  of  the  modern  French  language,  was  that  culti- 
vated by  the  trouveres,  the   poets  of  northern   France, 
whose  poetry  bore  more  of  the  epic  character,  and  whose 
songs  and    chivalrous   romances   described   the   fabulous 
exploits  of  the  knights  of  the   round  table,   of  Amadis, 
and   of  Charlemagne   with  his  peers.      They  proceeded 
chiefly  from  IN'ormandy,  and  spread  over  France  and  Eng- 
land ;  in  the  latter,  under  the  name  of  minstrels.     Th^y 
flourished  from  the  twelfth  century,  until  the  rise  of  the 
modern  French  literature. 

But  south  of  the  Loire  we  find  a  diflferent  reo-ion,  a  dif- 
ferent language,  or  dialect,  and  a  difierent  people.     "  The 
beautiful  shores  of  Provence,   Languedoc,  and   Guienne, 
[VI  10 


J 


fi 


11} 


74 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


togetlier  with  Gascony,  Imfl  earlier  become  susceptible  of 
civilization,  tliroiigli  tlieir  intercourse  with  the  Ivonians; 
and  the  victorious  Gernuin  trilies  found  in  these  regions 
much  stronger  inducements  to  excliange  their  savage  life 
for  gentle  manners  than  in  tlie  north  of  France.  Less 
isolated  than  Spain,  these  provinces  shared  with  that 
country  all  the  luxuriance  of  the  south.  Eich  pastures, 
with  the  finest  productions,  romantic  valleys  and  hills,  in 
the  fertile  Cevennes,  a  long  extent  of  coast  on  the  Medi- 
terranean sea,  give  loveliness  to  the  country,  and  a  gay, 
pleasure-loving  character  to  the  inhabitants." 

The  chivalry  of  the  people  inhabiting  this  region   of 
country  was  more  gallant  than  that  of  the  north,  and  softer 
and  brighter  than  that  of  the  Spanish  peninsula.     There 
was  more  in  it  of  show  and  festivity.     It  Iiad  an  opportu- 
nity of   more  perfect   development.      The   storms  which 
desolated  France  under  the  IVIerovingian  and  Carlovingiaii 
races  were  little,  if  at  all,  felt  among  the  Trovencals.     In 
those  southern  provinces,  the  power  of  the  great  barons, 
dukes,  and  counts,  was  more  and  more  developed,  while 
the  authority  of  the  king  was  correspondingly  declining. 
They  succeeded   in  not  only  making  their  own  dignity 
hereditary,  but  also  encroached  continually  on  the  royal 
territory.     Thus  the  gay,  smiling  climate  of  the  south  of 
France,   combining   with   the   independence,   superiority 
and  freedom  of  its  political  institutions,  called  forth  the 
earliest  fruits  of  chivalry,  and  its  attendant,  song.     As 
early  as  in  the  tenth  century,  while  northern  France  was 
a  prey  to  intestine  commotions,  Provence,   and  part  of 
Burgundy,^  and   its  dependencies   enjoyed   repose  under 
the  mild  sway  of  Conrad  the  Pacilic.     The  courts  of  the 
Bereno-ers,  the  sovereigns  of  Catalonia,  and  part  of  southern 
France,   became  the  principal   nurseries  of  the  opening 
talent,  and  the  centre  of  union  with  other  European  na- 
tions,    lu  the  eleventh  century,  during  the  reign  of  Ray- 


^Lays  of  Minnesinger  8, 15,  IG. 


J 
f 


I 


EUROPE  —  ITS  SOCIETY. 


75 


mond  Berengerius,  count  of  Barcelona,  the  Provengal 
poetry  was  introduced  into  Barcelona  and  Catalonia. 
Under  Alphonso  the  Second,  the  empire  of  love  and  poetry 
was  extended  over  a  great  portion  of  the  south-western 
district  of  Spain. 

The  eleventh,  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries  form 
togetlier  a  period  of  fermentation,  during  which  the  ele- 
ments of  Euroi)ean  civilization  were  not  only  in  oreat 
commotion,  but  were  in  the  act  of  separating  from  each 
other,^  and  fashioning  themselves  for  the  reception  of  new 
forms.  Everywhere  principles  were  crude  and  undigested, 
but  feeling  was  strong.  Chivalry  was  cherishing  its  wild 
dreams,  outraging  all  common  sense  in  their  extravagance. 
The  servile  worship  of  the  female  sex  was  productive  of 
effects  almost  ludicrous,  and  yet  it  may  well  be  regarded  as 
the  commencement  of  that  important  revolution  in  society 
which  ultimately  fixed  on  the  firm  basis  of  religious  justice 
the  destinies  of  one-half  of  the  human  race. 

During  this  period  courteousness  and  gallantry  were  no- 
where so  fully  developed  as  in  Provence.  The  beauty  of 
woman  became  a  boast  and  a  treasure,  and  was  worshiped 
as  little  less  than  a  divinity.  The  heart  of  man  was  bolder, 
liis  arm  firmer,  than  in  the  days  of  dull  reality,  and  the 
spirit  of  adventurous  knighthood  became  softened  into 
heroic  gentleness  and  gallant  love.  The  German  emperor, 
Frederic  Barbarossa,  and  the  English  king,  *Richard  Coeur 
de  Lion  invited  Provencal  knights  to  their  courts  to  receive 
instruction  from  them  in  the  usages  and  ceremonies  of 
chivalry. 

All  the  elements  of  society  were  thus,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, drawn  together  by  an  uniting  sympathy,  and  by  a 
conmion  zeal  in  the  promotion  of  objects,  which  could  not 
but  tend  in  some  degree  to  temper  their  asperities.  The 
kings  of  nations,  the  aristocracy,  and  the  people  were  united 
in  emulation  in  the  field,  and  the  inequalities  of  rank  were 

* Lat/s  oj'MLiincsiiifji  is,  4. 


V 


■H 


76 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


'  k 


'\ 


Btill  further  mitigated  by  the  value  set  upon  poetic  talent, 
by  whomsoever  it  might  be  displayed.  It  was  the  mind's 
early  springtime;  the  season  of  unfolding  intellect  and 
mental  blossoming.  The  troubadour  knight  was  at  one 
time  breathing  the  fire  of  martial  glory,  and  animating  his 
followers  to  heroic  enterprise;  at  another  turning  his  muse 
into  a  powerful  political  engine;  and  at  another  still  melt- 
ing into  the  soft  and  delightful  harmony  of  love. 

Love,  now  nn  universal  birth, 

From  hcrirt  to  heart  was  stealing ; 
From  earth  i:o  man,  from  man  to  earth, 

It  was  the  hour  of  feeling. 

The  chivalry  and  the  poetry  of  these  ages  are  insepara- 
bly connected.  They  are  both  the  fruits  of  one  great  moral 
revolution.  They  sprung  up  together,  and  are  mutually 
illustrative  of  each  other.  They  have  similar  blemishes 
and  similar  redeeming  qualities.  While  the  ancient  or 
classic  poetry  was  essentially  masculine  in  its  character, 
the  Proven9al  owes  much  of  its  charm  to  that  gentleness 
and  mildness  of  spirit  which  the  diiferent  position  of  woman 
in  society  necessarily  infused  into  it.  In  the  early  ages  the 
new  feeling,  coming  upon  the  heart  with  all  its  vivid  fresh- 
ness, was  wildly  and  extravagantly  pursued.  It  was  as  if 
the  springs  of  a  new  life  were  opened  in  the  human  heart, 
and  their  joyous  outgushings  were  a  necessity  of  their  very 
being. 

Among  the  curious  institutions  of  which  this  new  feel- 
ing and  the  song  of  the  troubadour  were  productive, 
were  the  tribunals  or  courts  of  love  which  originated  in 
the  twelfth  and  continued  through  the  thirteenth  and  four- 
teenth centuries.  To  their  establishment  and  continuance 
the  gallantry  originating  in  cliivalry  and  tournaments;  the 
exterior  respect  paid  to  the  sex ;  the  indolent  leisure,  and 
frequent  festivities  of  the  princes,  gentlemen  and  knights, 
together  with  the  inventive  imagination  of  the  trouba- 
dours, all  contributed.     The  largest  number  of  these,  as 


"If 


I 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


77 


also  those  which  were  the  most  celebrated,  were  held  in 
Provence,  the  land  of  the  troubadour. 

These  courts  had  their  presidents  like  other  tribunals, 
and  also  the  different  offices  belonging  to  a  parliamentary 
organization,  and  which  were  filled  by  ladies  and  gentle- 
men of  the  highest  rank.     The  persons  who  presided  over 
them  were  either  kings  or  princes,  or  celebrated  princesses. 
Their  jurisdiction  was  very  extensive.     They  heard  and 
decided  all  disputes  between  lovers,  enacted  ordinances 
respecting  the  rights  of  man  and  wife,  and  of  lovers  of 
both  sexes;   introduced  new  customs  and  abolished  old 
ones ;  discussing  particularly  all  questions  relative  to  the 
essence  and  expressions  of  love,  the  excellencies  and  failings 
of  the  fair  sex,  and  tlie  privileges,  duties,  and  sacrifices  of 
lovers.     The  following  may  be  cited  as  samples  of  the 
questions  discussed  :   "  Which  is  the  most  easy  to  be  en- 
dured, the  death  or  inconstancy  of  a  mistress  ?  "     "  Should 
you  rather  see  me  leave  your  mistress  as  you  approach,  or 
appproach  as  you  retire  ? "     "  Who  sufters  most,  a  hus- 
band whose  wife,  or  a  lover  whose  mistress,  is  unfiiithful  ?" 
"  Can  true  love  exist  between  husband  and  wife  ?  *'     Thus 
love,  instead  of  constituting  the  romance,  was  made  the 
serious  business  of  life- among  the  higher  classes.     After 
the   discussion   in  these   courts  came   the   decision   pro- 
nounced after  the  manner  of  the  parliaments.     So  import- 
ant were  they  deemed  that  their  decisions  have  been  col- 
lected  and   published.     From   these,    as   from    all   other 
things  connected  with  their  organization,  it  seems  that  the 
jurisprudence  and  the  philosophy  of  love  in  the  middle 
ages    very   perfectly    resembled   the   jurisprudence,    the 
divinity,  and  the  philosophy  of  the  schools,  that  is,  that 
they  were  equally  subtle  and  unprofitable,  adding  nothing 
whatever  to  the  stock  of  valuable  knowledge,  and  entirely 
barren  of  results. 

These  courts  eulniinated  in  France  under  the  reign  of 
Charles  YI.  This  was  mainly  through  the  influence  of 
his  consort,  Isabella  of  Bavaria,  whose  court  was  established 


78 


HISTOKY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


79 


■ 


in  1380.  Even  iiiuler  Louis  XIV  mi  academy  of  love 
was  establislied  by  Cardinal  Rielielieu,  at  Ruel,  which  was 
an  imitation  of  the  courts  of  love. 

The  cessation  of  the  formal  courts  of  love  about  the  close 
of  the  fourteenth  century  was  signalized  by  the  rise  of 
another  institution  called  the  amorous  court.^  This  afforded 
instances  of  the  same  kind  of  mockery  of  an  actual  court 
as  the  tribunals  of  love  were  imitations  of  real  parliaments. 
This  court  had  the  same  othcers  as  tlie  courts  of  the  French 
and  other  monarchs,  such  as  marshals,  treasurers,  cham- 
berlains,^ secretaries,  advocates,  huntsmen  and  the  like. 
Among  *its  officers  and  nienil)urs  were  included  not  only 
ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  highest  raidv  but  also  doctors 
of  divinity,  canons,  preachers,  and  ecclesiastics  of  the 
superior  orders. 

It  was  thus  that  the  belle  passion,  arising  in  a  lovely 
climate,  among  a  people  of  seiisuous  organization  and 
of  active  and  sensitive  temperament,  aiuf  tanned  into  a 
flame  by  the  poetry  of  the  troubadours,  souglit  to  exhibit 
itself  ill  every  possible  form,  and  to  work  out  its  own 
peculiar  character  through  every  possi])le  avenue.  This, 
without  doubt,  exercised  a  strong  influence  upon  society 
in  Europe,  and  more  especially  in  France  in  the  subsequent 
centuries. 

But  the  influence  wrought  by  poetry  and  song  durino- 
tliese  ages  was  not  confined  to  the  troubadour\nnd  the 
south  of  France.  In  northern  France  we  find  the  trou- 
veres,  wlio,  proceeding  from  the  duchy  of  Xormandy,  and 
spreading  over  France  and  England,  fiouiished  frorn  the 
twelfth  century  till  the  rise  of  the  modern  French  literature. 
In  England  they  were  known  by  the  name  of  minsti-els 
These  trouveres  were  the  epic  poets  of  France,  whose  sono-s 
and  romances  described  the  fabulous  exploits  of  tlie  knio-h'ts 
Of  the  roimd  table,  of  Amadis,  and  of  Charlemagne  and 
his  peers. 


At  about  the  same  period,  the  poetic  talent  began  to 
develo[)  itself  in  the  minnesingers  of  Germany,  but  between 
their  soni^s  and  those  of  the  troubadours  was  a  wide  dif- 
ference.  The  Teutonic  mind  paid  less  adoration  to  the  fe- 
male sex  than  the  Proven9al.  In  Provence  tins  exaltation 
of  tlie  sex  was  a  recent  innovation,  a  feeling  which  had 
taken  possession  of  the  mind  with  the  power  of  novelty, 
and  might,  therefore,  be  expected  to  be  pushed  out  rapidly 
into  its  peculiar  results.  The  Teutonic  mind,  although 
strong  in  its  attachments,  restrained,  nevertheless,  its  modes 
of  expression,  and  while  assigning  to  woman  a  superior 
rank  in  the  scale  of  society,  refused  to  acknowledge  her 
as  a  divinity,  or  to  bow  down  to  her  temporal  and  spiritual 
authority. 

But  although  exciting  into  activity  the  trouveres  and 
the  miiniesingers,  yet  the  song  of  the  troubadour  was  des- 
tined to  die  out  in  its  own  land.  The  crusade  against  the 
Albigenses  occurred  in  the  thirteenth  centurv,  which  filled 
the  whole  land  of  Provence  with  scenes  of  crueltv  and 
bloodslied.  Tliis  was  latal  to  the  troubadours,  whose 
light  was  extinguished  never  again  to  be  revived. 

Never  again  with  one  exception.  Our  own  time  is  w^it- 
nessing  a  revival  of  the  song  of  the  troubadour.  In  the 
town  of  Agen,  on  the  Caronne,  lives  a  peasant  poet, 
Jacques  Jasmin,  commonly  called  the  last  of  the  trouba- 
dours.^ He  is  a  barber  and  hair-dresser,  and  earns  his  living 
by  following  his  calling.  The  language  he  makes  use  of  is 
the  old  Proven(,'al,  the  first  of  those  languages  to  which  the 
Latin  gave  birth  after  the  inroads  of  barbarism,  one  which 
reached  its  highest  degree  of  perfection  during  the  twelfth 
century  from  1150  to  1220.  This  language  he  uses  as  it 
was  written  in  purer  times,  ^id  wherever  he  goes  he  is- 
understood  even  by  the  Catalonians. 

He  reaches  the  lieart  of  the  people,  and  his  songs  and 
poems  are  in  the  mouths  of  those  who  labor  in  the  fields,  or 


'  ^■\- 


MiiHirH^  I,  2."i0,  'ill. 


^Eclectic  Mag<(zln(\  Jjuumry  to  April,  1853,  192-4. 


80 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


81 


who  sit  by  their  firesides.  He  tells  the  story  of  the  people 
io  fictions  at  once  so  true,  beautiful,  and  familiar,  that  he 
charms  the  peasant  life.  The  bare  announcement  of  his 
name  draws  together  immense  audiences,  and  his  appear- 
ance everywhere  excites  enthusiasm.  When  he  recites 
before  assemblies  of  people,  sometimes  two  thousand  in 
number,  the  ladies  tear  the  flowers  and  feathers  out  of 
their  bonnets  to  weave  them  into  garlands  for  him.  He 
refuses  all  pay  for  his  recitations,  returning  to  his  regular 
calling  to  furnish  him  with  the  means  of  living.  He  is 
about  fifty-six  years  old,  and  every  way  worthy  of  being 
the  last  of  the  troubadours. 


V.  Society  as  it  has^  developed,  and  is  derchping  itself  in  the 

different  European  nations, 

1.  In  the  Spanish  peninsula. 

The  Pyrenean  wall  separates  this  peninsula  from  the 
rest  of  Europe.  On  its  northern  slope,  the  French  side, 
we  meet  with  a  singular  people,  inhabiting  the  territory  of 
Cerdagne  and  Eoussillon.^  They  cling  to  old  thoughts, 
customs  and  institutions;  and  in  character  and  imagina- 
tion carry  one  back  to  the  mediaeval  times.  On  Sunday 
and  Saints'  day  are  performed  now  those  ancient  an<l  tradi- 
tional mysteries,  which  were  the  origin  of  the  modern 
drama.  With  slight  difi:erence8  they  are  the  same  now 
as  when  enacted  in  Italy  and  Germany,  in  the  middle  ages 
and  time  of  the  troubadours.  We  find  here,  therefore, 
the  point  of  transition  between  mediaeval  and  modern 
times. 

Ascending  the  northern  slope  we  still  find  existing  as  a 
distinct  race,^  and  scattered-in  the  villages  and  valleys  of 
the  Pyrenees,  the  Cagots.  They  are  low  in  stature,  weak 
and  tottering ;  their  complexions  sallow  ;  and  their  appear- 
ance evidencing  weakness  .of  intellect.*     They  are  a  pro- 


'Edectie,  January  to  April,  1857,  111.    "  Idem,  109.    "  Mejn,  109,  110. 


n 


scribed  race,  denied  the  rights  of  worship  and  of  sepulture; 
separated  from  the  rest  of  the  congregation  while  living; 
limited  to  a  distinct  portion  of  the  churchyard  when  dead ; 
admitted  to  the  benefit  of  the  holy  water,  but  excluded 
from  the  reception  of  the  sacraments.  They  present  the 
clear  evidence  of  having  groaned  under  the  weight  of 
persecution  of  one  thousand  years.  It  is  yet  an  unsolved 
problem  whether  they  are  the  descendants  of  the  invading 
Goths  of  the  fifth  century ;  or  the  remnants  of  those  Sara- 
cenic invaders  who  were  defeated  by  Charles  Martel  at 
Poictiers  in  the  eighth ;  or  the  Albigenses  who  were  dis- 
persed in  the  twelfth  century. 

The  Pyrenees,  like  an  immense  wall,  separate  the  Span- 
ish peninsula  from  the  rest  of  Europe.  The  fortunes  of 
that  peninsula  have  been  peculiar,  and  the  teachings 
of  history  in  reference  to  its  diflferent  peoples,  full  of  in- 
struction. In  industry,  religion,  and  government,  we  have 
already  seen  that  its  lessons  are  admonitory.  They  are 
like  the  beacon  fires  upon  a  rocky  coast,  fuller  of  warning 
than  of  winning. 

In  casting  our  eye  over  the  peninsula  with  a  view  to 
the  gathering  up  of  such  fragments  as  may  instruct  us  in 
the  development  of  the  social  element,  we  are  struck 
with  two  facts,  which,  in  the  outset,  present  themselves  as 
strong  modifying  causes.  These  are :  1.  The  physical 
peculiarities  of  the  peninsula.  Although  seemingly  set 
apart  from  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  apparently  designed 
to  constitute  a  little  world  in  itself,  yet,  on  examination, 
it  presents  no  unity  of  plan,  but,  on  the  contrary,  is  so 
ridged  with  mountains,  and  furrowed  with  river  valleys, 
as  to  present  many  natural  boundaries  to  states  and  king- 
doms. 2.  The  second  fact  is,  the  many  difierent  peoples, 
originally  varying  essentially  from  each  other,  who,  by 
centuries  of  amalgamation,  have  come  to  constitute  the 
people  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  It  is  like  many  diflferent 
colored  rills  pouring  their  confluent  streams  into  the  same 

VI]  11 


82 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


common  reservoir.  First,  we  have  the  Iberians,  the  ori- 
ginal inhabitants.  JSText,  the  Celts,  whose  invasion  at  first 
met  with  resistance,  but  ultimately,  both  f)eople  ac^reed  to 
possess  the  country  in  common,  and  to  remain  forever 
united.^  Hence  we  have  the  Celtiberians,  in  many  respects, 
deserving  to  be  regarded  as  the  primitive  inhabitants  of 
the  peninsula.  Then  we  have  the  early,  and  considerably 
extensive,  colonization  of  the  southern  part  by  the  Phoeni- 
cians. The  Phoenician  power  fell  with  the  downfall  of 
Carthage,  and  Spain  two  centuries  before  the  Christian 
era  became  a  Roman  province,  the  latter  introducing  their 
manners,  customs,  and  even  language,  into  the  peninsula. 
It  was  long,  however,  before  the  northern  part,  afterwards 
composing  old  Castile,  Arragon,  and  Catalonia,  became 
wholly  subdued. 

Again,  on  the  downfiiU  of  the  Roman  empire,  and  in  the 
beginning  of  the  fifth  century,  the  Sueves,  Vandals  and  Visi- 
goths invaded  the  peninsula,  and  mixing,  in  large  num- 
bers, with  the  original  Celtiberians,  produced  the  different 
races,  the  traces  of  which  are  still  observable  in  Spain.  The 
Sueves  made  Braga  their  centre;  the  Vandals,  Toledo, 
from  which  they  were  afterwards  driven  into  Africa  by 
Theodoric;  but  the  Visigoths  ultimately  ruled  from  the 
Ebro  to  the  straits  of  Gibraltar.  So  great  was  the  con- 
cession of  power  and  privilege  to  the  Gothic  race  that  the 
title  hijo  del  Goda,2  son  of  the  Goth,  becoming  afterwards 
changed  into  hidalgo  has  ever  since  signified  the  title  of 
a  noble,  or  free  and  powerful  man,  among  a  people  of 
slaves.  The  extent  of  the  Gothic  rule  and  its  power  and 
influence  in  the  moulding  of  character  may  be  inferred 
from  its  code  of  laws,  which  so  long  and  so  perfectly  go- 
verned the  people. 

But  invasion,  conquest,  and  settlement  had  not  yet 
ceased,  for  in  these  respects  Spain  has  liad  a  larger  propor- 
tion than  other  nations.     Three  centuries  later  and  the 


^  Matte  Brun,  viii,  18,  19.    "  Idem,  24. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


83 


'I 


commencement  of  the  eighth  century  was  signalized  by  the 
advent  of  the  Arabs.  They  introduced  refinement,  anfi 
many  of  the  arts  of  life.  They  cultivated  letters  and  the 
arts ;  and  embellished  Cordova,  Grenada  and  other  towns. 

But  among  the  mountains  of  the  Asturias  was  gradually 
nurturing  a  power,  which,  after  more  than  four  centuries 
of  struggle,  finally  under  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  achieved 
a  reconquest  of  the  kingdom,  ultimately  expelling  the 
Moors.  But  their  domicile,  in  Spain,  of  eight  centuries  du- 
ration, could  not  avoid  leaving  its  impress  upon  character, 
and  originating  many  manners  and  customs,  which,  but 
for  them,  would  have  had  no  existence.  Thus  while  the 
Italian  peninsula  has  furnished  to  Europe  its  battle-fields, 
and  its  difierent  portions  have  been  the  prey  of  the  conquer- 
or, that  of  Spain  has  been  more  domiciliary  in  its  character, 
furnishing  homes  to  its  different  invaders.  There  is  no 
doubt  but  the  Spanish  character  has  been  essentially  modi- 
fied from  this  circumstance. 

The  ancient  Iberians  and  Lusitanians  (inhabitants  of 
Spain  and  Portugal)  amused  themselves  with  dances  that 
were  light  and  lively,  requiring  much  activity.^  The  old 
Celtiberians  held  an  assembly  every  year  in  which  they  ex- 
amined what  the  women  had  with  their  own  hands  made, 
within  the  year,  giving  a  reward  to  her  whose  work  they 
thought  the  best.^  They  considered  corpulency  a  reproach, 
and  the  men  were  measured  every  year  by  a  cincture  of  a 
certain  breadth,  inflicting  some  punishment  on  those  who 
had  become  too  large.  The  age  of  marriage  was  fixed  by 
law,  the  girls  choosing  their  liusbands  from  among  the 
young  warriors,  the  surest  means  of  obtaining  their  prefer- 
ence being  the  presentation  to  the  fair  one  of  the  head  of  an 
enemy  slain  in  battle. 

Many  of  the  Celtiberian  women  wore  iron  collars  with 
iron  rods  rising  beliind,  and  bent  in  front.  To  these  rods 
was  attached  tne  veil,  their  usual  ornament.     Others  wore 


'  Mnlff  Br>in,  viii,  2^.  2'?.    ""  Idem,  23. 


84 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


a  sort  of  broad  turban,  and  some  twisted  their  hair  round 
a^small  ring  about  a  foot  above  the  head  appending  from 
the  ring  a  black  veil.  A  shining  forehead  was  considered 
great  beauty,  and  to  add  as  much  as  possible  to  it  they 
pulled  out  their  hair,  and  rubbed  their  brows  with  oil. 

From  the  many  different  elements  that  enter  into  the 
Spanish  character,  and  the  different  periods  of  time  at 
which  these  contributions  have  been  furnished,  it  is  ob- 
vious that  the  Spanish  character  will  be  found  to  differ 
with  different  periods  of  time.     Not  only  that,  but  it  varies 
also,  in  the  different  provinces.^     The  shades  of  character 
are  even  better  defined  in  each  Spanish  province,  than  in 
other  European  kingdoms.     To  this  result,  several  causes 
conduce,  as :    1.  The  low  state  of  industry  leading  to  very 
little  intercommunication  between  the  people  in  the  differ- 
ent provinces.     2.  The  badness,  or  entire  want  of  roads,  by 
which  this  intercourse  could  be  promoted.     3.  The  strong 
natural  barriers  that  separate  states.     All  these  present  so 
many  obstacles  to  that  frequent  intercourse  and  communi- 
cation, so  essential  to  diffuse  an  uniform  character  over  a 
whole  population.     Thus  we  have  the  light  and  graceful 
forms  of  the  Biscayans,  the  lofty  stature  of  the  Gallicians 
and  Catalonians,  the  dark  complexions  of  the  Estremadu- 
rans,  the  strength  of  the  Castilians,  and  the  pale  complex- 
ions of  the  Murcians. 

The  moral,  not  less  than  the  physical  character,  differs 
in  the  different  provinces.  The  Biscayans  are  haughty, 
irascible,  and  passionate;  the  Gallicians,  melancholy  and 
unsocial,  although  laborious  and  brave ;  the  Catalonians, 
impetuous  and  indocile;  the  Arragonese,  devoted  to  their 
country,  and  strongly  attached  to  its  ancient  customs ;  the 
Castilians,  grave  and  proud;  the  Estremadurans,  indolent 
and  vain;  the  Andalusians,  proud  and  arrogant;  the  Mur- 
cians, slow  and  dull ;  and  the  Valencians,  gay  and  incon- 
stant, ingenious  and  industrious. 


^Malte  Brim,  viii,  57. 


I 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


85 


Under  this  state  of  things,  it  can  excite  but  little  surprise 
if  different  travelers  have  given  different  accounts  of  the 
Spaniards,  or  even  if  we  have  different  accounts  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  same  provinces  at  different  times.  It  is 
no  doubt,  true,  however,  that  there  has  been  some  approx- 
imation towards  a  uniformity  in  character,  manners,  and 
customs ;  and  hence  that,  subject  to  some  modifications,  it 
is  competent  of  such  as  being  Spanish.  Another  fact  also 
should  be  borne  in  mind,  and  that  is  that  neither  the 
Spanish  character,  nor  the  circumstances  under  which  it 
has  been  developed,  are  at  all  favorable  to  those  changes 
which  occur  to  people  under  other  circumstances,  as  under 
American  institutions.  The  character  is  there  formed 
and  develops  itself  in  obedience  to  the  same  manners, 
customs,  social  habits,  and  institutions,  that  might  have 
been  followed  for  centuries,  and  thus  acquired  fixedness 
and  unchangeability.  We  shall  now  proceed  to  describe, 
briefly,  some  of  the  peculiarities  of  the  Spanish  character, 
and  some  of  their  manners  and  customs. 

The  Spaniard  is  described  as  short,  thin,  and  well  pro- 
portioned; his  complexion  olive  ;i  his  strong  desire  to 
expend  in  display  all  the  means  at  his  command.  In  the 
former  part  of  the  sixteenth  century  the  Spanish,  in  con- 
junction with  the  Austrian,  in  the  person  of  Charles  Y, 
was  the  ruHng  power  in  Europe,  at  the  same  time  claiming 
exclusive  sovereignty  in  the  new  world.  While  the  wealth 
of  the  new  world  was  pouring  into  Spain,  everything 
seemed  to  bow  before  her  in  the  old.  The  Spaniard  thus 
acquired  a  consequence  in  the  eye  of  the  world,  which  aid- 
ing a  preexisting  tendency,  gave  him  great  dignity  of 
character,  loftiness  of  bearing,  and  that  inflation  of  pride 
which  was  constantly  displaying  itself  in  his  gestures,  lan- 
guage and  writings.  He  seemed  enveloped  in  an  atmo- 
sphere of  grandeur,  and  his  character  acquired  elements 
which  it  has  ever  since  retained ;  for  although  the  living 

'  Travels  tJiroygh  Europe,  \\,  18,  19. 


•'-•WMHffata 


■^^1 


^^«*— laV^^MMMBMM^ 


■iM»aw«Wa 


86 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Spaniard  of  the  sixteenth  century  has  disappeared  yet  his 
mask  still  remains.  He  still  preserves  in  liis  air  and 
gesture  the  marks  of  his  ancient  greatness.  There  is  a 
gravity  and  haughtiness  that  marks  all  his  actions,  but,  as 
a  compensating  quality,  it  gives  to  tlie  mind  that  eleva- 
tion and  loftiness  that  operates  as  a  safeguard  against 
every  species  of  littleness  and  meanness. 

One  natural  eifect  of  this  is  a  reserve  and  taciturnity 
especially  in  the  presence  of  strangers.  Another  is  a  slow- 
ness, calmness  and  evident  marks  of  deliberation  in  all 
their  movements.  One  traveler  remarks  that  "  that  listless 
indolence,  equally  dear  to  the  uncivilized  savage,  and  to 
the  degenerate  slave  of  despotism,^  is  nowhere  more  in- 
dulged than  in  Spain.  Thousands  of  men  in  all  parts  of 
the  realm,  pass  day  after  day,  wrapt  up  in  a  cloak,  stand- 
ing in  rows  against  a  wall,  or  dozing  under  a  tree.  In 
total  want  of  every  incitement  to  action,  the  springs  of 
their  intellectual  faculties  forget  to  play,  and  their  views 
grow  confined  within  the  narrow  sphere  of  mere  existence. 
The  poor  Spaniard  does  not  work,  unless  urged  by  irresist- 
able  want,  because  he  perceives  no  advantage  from  in- 
dustry. Naturally  abstemious,  his  scanty  fare  is  easily 
procured;  blessed  with  a  warm  climate,  clothes  are  not 
much  an  object." 

If  slowness  be,  as  some  contend,  an  element  of  progress, 
the  Spanish  people  ought  to  be  preeminently  progressive. 
In  political  measures,  in  war,  in  all  the  operations  of  go- 
vernment, in  the  common  occurrences  of  life  even,  when 
others  act,  they  still  deliberate.  Mistrustful  and  circum- 
spect, they  fail  by  slowness  where  others  do  by  precii)ita- 
tion.  There  is  Httle  doubt  that  the  arbitrary  government 
under  which  they  have  so  long  lived,  and  more  especially 
the  inquisition,  that  for  so  many  generations  has  sent  its 
system  of  espionage  into  every  city  and  hamlet  and 
human  habitation  in  Spain,  have  exercised  a  powerful  iu- 


EUKOPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


87 


^  Mamr's  Voyages,  xiv,  180. 


fluence  in  implanting  caution,  reserve,  and  suspicion  as 
strong  elements  in  the  character  of  her  people. 

This  fact  becomes  more  apparent  when  we  are  informed 
by  intelligent  travelers  that  the  Spanish  is  by  no  means, 
naturally,  a  serious,  melancholy  nation.  That  every  village 
resounds  with  the  music  of  voices  and  guitars.  That  their 
fiiirs  and  Sunday  wakes  are  remarkably  noisy  and  riotous. 
That  they  talk  louder  and  argue  with  more  vehemence 
than  even  the  French  or  ItaHans,!  and  gesticulate  4vith 
equal,  if  not  superior  eagerness. 

Besides  this  tendency  to  gayety  it  has  been  remarked 
that  the  Spaniard,  though  so  slow  and  deliberate  when 
nothing  extraordinary  moves  him,  is,  nevertheless,  inflamed 
to  enthusiasm  when  his  haughtiness,  resentment,  or  any 
of  the  passions  which  compose  his  character,  are  awakened 
either  by  insult  or  opposition.^  Hence  it  is  that  the  Spanish 
nation,  apparently  the  most  grave,  cold,  and  slow  in  Eu- 
rope, sometimes  becomes  one  of  the  most  violent,  when 
circumstances  deprive  it  of  its  habitual  calm,  and  deliver  it 
up  to  the  empire  of  imagination  and  passion. 

The  Spanish  soldiers  have  always  proved  themselves 
brave  and  patient  of  hardships.  They  follow  without 
flinching  the  lead  of  their  oflicers,  but  they  require  their 
example  first  to  be  set. 

The  Spaniards  have  w^ell  preserved  their  ancient  virtues  of 
patience  and  sobriety.  Through  the  first  they  are  rendered 
constant  in  their  enterprises,  and  indefatigable  in  their 
labors ;  while  the  latter  preserves  them  from  excesses  too 
common  in  the  more  northern  countries  of  Europe. 

The  relations  between  the  sexes  present  a  subject  of 
interest  in  the  study  of  the  Spaniard.  Although  travelers 
do  not  perfectly  agree  in  their  statements,  yet  the  young 
Spanish  lady  is  described  as  possessing  great  attraction^ 
''  A  face  perfectly  oval;  hair  of  a  fine  clear  auburn,  equally 
divided  on  the  forehead,  and  only  bound  by  a  silk  net; 

*  Travels  tTtrouffh  Europe,  iv,  20.    "  Idem,  20. 


88 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


large  black  eyes ;  a  moutli  full  of  graces ;  an  attitude  always 
modest;  a  simple  habit  of  neat  black  serge,^  exactly  fitting 
the  body,  and  gently  pressing  the  waist,  a  little  hand  per- 
fectly proportioned;  in  fine,  everything   charms  in  these 

youthful  virgins." 

The  countenance  of  the  Spanish  women  is  extremely 
sensible,  and  full  of  vivacity.  They  are  generally  small 
in  size,  and  thin,  but  have  large  sparkling  black  eyes,  full 
of  eapression.  They  talk  rapidly,  and  are  hasty,  opinion- 
ated and  passionate,  but  easily  yield  to  reason.  They 
never  paint,  as  in  France,  and  are  endowed  by  nature 
with  a  great  deal  of  wit  and  lively  repartee.  At  the  same 
time  they  have  little  talent,  and  that  scarcely  at  all  culti- 
vated;  doing  little,  if  anything,  at  working,  reading, 
writing,  or  even  playing  upon  a  musical  instrument. 

The  human  form,  both  of  the  male  and  female,  in  Spain, 
is  early  developed.  Females  are  reckoned  marriageable 
at  twelve,  and  males  at  fourteen.^*  Thus  mai^iage  is  en- 
tered into  earlv,  and  with  little  reflection.  The  law  denies 
here  the  same  extent  or  amount  of  veto  power  which  it 
usually  gives  in  other  countries.  The  only  plea  it  admits 
for  a  parent  withholding  his  consent  to  the  marriage,  is 
inferiority  of  birth,  thus  conceding  to  this  single  cir- 
cumstance, an  importance  beyond  bad  conduct,  disparity 
of  age,  incompatibility  of  temper,  and  inequality  of  for- 
tune. 

In  Spain,  as  in  other  purely  catholic  countries,  marriage 
is  a  sacrament,  and  taken  in  charge  by  the  church.  When 
the  parties  declare  in  the  presence  of  a  priest,  that  they 
take  each  other  for  husband  and  wife,  the  marriage  is 
considered  legal,  notwithstanding  the  nonpublication  of 
banns,  and  the  opposition  of  parents. 

Marriaeres  in  Valencia  are  attended  with  an  enormous 
expense,  caused  by  a  great  display  of  extraordinary  magni- 
ficence.   For  some  days  previous  to  the  ceremony,  the 


Trmels  through  Europe,  iv,  25.    ^Ma/rria^e  Rites,  136,  137. 


_j«._  -f  "*•.._. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


89 


presents  already  received  as  well  as  those  intended  for  her, 
are  publicly  displayed  to  different  companies  as  they  come 
in.  The  luxury  in  the  wedding  feasts,  in  the  ball  that 
follows,  and  tlie  equipages  which  are  provided,  is  enormous 
and  expensive  in  the  extreme. 

There  is  a  great  deal  of  domestic  unhappiness  in  Spain, 
which  is  largely  attributable  to  the  fact  that  a  great  pro- 
portion of  the  marriages  take  place  so  early  in  life  that  the 
promptings  of  passion  govern  rather  than  the  dictates  of 
reason.  Jealousy  was  formerly  a  much  more  prevalent 
passion  among  the  Spaniards  than  it  is  at  present.  The 
female  sex  now  enjoys  much  more  liberty  than  in  former 
times.  The  Saracens  or  Moors,  who  so  long  held  domi- 
nion over  a  large  part  of  Spain,  brought  with  them  many 
customs  of  the  east,  and  among  others,  that  of  carefully 
guarding  the  women  from  the  public  gaze.  Married  ladies 
of  quality  were  kept  more  retired  in  their  houses  than  a 
Carthusian  in  his  cell.^  Many  females  of  rank  durst  not 
admit  visitors  without  the  permission  of  their  husbands. 
Married  men  seldom  or  never  associated  with  their  wives. 
Even  at  table  the  husband  sat  down  alone,  while  the  wife 
and  children  were  seated  cross-legged,  after  the  oriental  cus- 
tom, on  carpets  or  cushions  spread  upon  the  floor.^  The  ordi- 
nary occupations  of  the  Spanish  ladies  were  embroidery,  the 
society  and  conversation  of  their  female  attendants,  and  of 
their  dwarfs  of  both  sexes,  and  their  religious  exercises.* 
The  restraints  thus  imposed  upon  the  Spanish  ladies  in- 
creased in  proportion  to  their  rank  and  birth. 

But  this  confinement,  and  these  restraints  have  almost 
entirely  disappeared.  Kor  is  the  same  amount  of  jealousy 
at  present  evidenced  in  the  Spanish  character. 

The  Spanish  gallants  are  termed  cortejos,  and  they  are 
similar  to  the  cecisbeos  of  the  Italians.  Of  them  a  total 
sacrifice  is  required.  They  must  give  proofs  of  this  at 
all  hours  of  the  day,^  accompanying  the  lady  to  the  public 


'  Meiners,  iii,  8.   "  Idem,  10.    '  Idem,  12.  *  Travels  through  Europe,  iv,  27. 
VI]  12 


■■■  I  > 


90 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


4. 


walk,  the  theatre,  and  even  the  confessional.  Some  in  the 
higher  walks  have  more  than  one  cortejos.  One  presides 
over  this  amnsement,  another  over  that.^  K'or  is  it  reput- 
able for  a  lady  to  cliange  her  cortejos,  retaining  them  some- 
times nntil  old  a£:e. 

The  Spanish  are  very  fond  of  the  dance,  and  possess 
the  greatest  aptitude  to  excel  in  that  art.  Among  them 
dancing  is  considered  as  an  essential  part  of  their  educa- 
tion. Besides  the  dances  of  other  countries  they  have 
some  peculiar  to  their  own.  Of  these  latter,  one  is  the 
sequidilla. 

The  figure  here  is  formed  by  eight  persons.  A  Spanish 
female  dancing  the  sequidiHa,  dressed  in  character,  accom- 
panying the  instruments  with  castinets,  and  precisely 
marking  the  measure  with  her  heel,^  presents  one  of  the 
most  seducing  objects  which  love  can  employ  to  extend  his 
empire. 

But  the  most  celebrated  dance  peculiar  to  Spain,  is  the 
fandango,  which  has  been  defined  to  be  ''  a  very  lively 
dance,  which  the  Spaniards  have  learned  from  the  Indians." 

There  are  two  kinds  of  fandangos,  although  botli  are 
danced  to  the  same  tune.  The  one  is  the  decent  dance ; 
the  other  is  gallant,  full  of  expression  ;  and  as  a  French 
author  expresses  it,"*  "  is  accompanied  with  certain  attitudes 
perpetually  exhibiting  an  alluring  picture  of  voluptuous 
joy."  It  is  danced  by  two  persons  only,  who  never  touch 
BO  much  as  the  hand  of  each  other.  "  When  we  view 
their  reciprocal  allurements,  tlieir  retreats  and  approaches, 
when  we  observe  the  female,  in  the  momeiit  when  her 
languor  announces  an  approaching  defeat,  suddenly  ac- 
quire new  courage  to  escape  from  her  conqueror,  who 
pursues  her,  and  is  pursued  in  his  turn ;  the  manner  in 
which  these  emotions  are  expressed  by  their  looks,^  ges- 
tures, and  attitudes,  it  is  impossible   not  to  confess  that 


^Mamage  Bites,   140.    ^  Trareh  throitfjh  E a  rope,  iv,  30.    '^  Idem.,  29. 
*  Idem,  29. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


91 


1 1 


these  scenes  are,  to  the  real  combats  of  Cytherea,  what 
military  evolutions  in  peace  are,  to  the  real  display  of  the 
art  of  war." 

The  Spaniards  have  their  tertulias  and  refrescos;^  the 
former  very  similar  to  those  of  France.  The  latter  are 
only  light  repasts,  prepared  for  persons  from  whom  visits 
are  received,  and  serve  as  a  prelude  to  the  tertulias.  But 
on  certain  great  occasions,  when  a  wedding,  christening, 
or  birthday  of  the  head  of  the  fixmily  is  to  be  celebrated, 
the  refresco  becomes  an  important  and  a  very  expensive 
aflair. 

After  dinner,  the  Spaniards  generally  sleep  for  two  or 
three  hours.  This  is  termed  the  siesta,  or  afternoon  nap, 
and  generally  continues  until  two  or  three  o'clock.  Dur- 
ing this  time,  the  shops  are  shut  in  Madrid,  and  few 
persons,  except  foreigners,  are  to  be  met  with  in  the 
streets.^  Their  usual  time  for  their  visits,  is  in  the  even- 
ing.    They  frequently  take  breakfast  and  supper  in  bed. 

Beggars  swarm  in  every  part  of  Spain,  and  are  as 
troublesome  as  in  Italy.  There  is  also  a  great  want  of 
cleanliness  among  the  Spaniards. 

The  funerals  are  conducted  much  after  the  same  man- 
ner as  in  all  catliolic  countries.  The  dead  are  borne  to 
the  grave  with  their  faces  uncovered,  preceded  by  a  long 
procession  of  priests  and  people,  with  lighted  tapers  in 
their  hands,  singing  psalms  and  litanies.  The  grandees  are 
dressed  in  their  princely  robes,  and  are  buried  in  them.^ 
The  young  and  unmarried  have  a  crown  of  artificial  flowers 
on  their  heads.  The  number  of  priests  and  tapers  varies 
with  the  wealth  of  the  deceased. 

They  pay  great  respect  to  their  dead,  strewing  flowers 
and  holy  water  over  tlieir  sepulchres.'^  They  suppose 
each  drop  of  holy  water  extinguishes  so  much  of  the  fire 
of  purgatory. 


^Travels    thmnf/h    K'lrope,    oO,    ;t2.      " Manners  and   Customs,  11,   C4. 
Travels  thronyli  Eiirop(\  iv,  3o.     ^Ida/i,  3o. 


92 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


93 


Immediately  after  death,  the  next  thing  to  be  done  is  to 
ofier  up  masses  for  the  repose  of  the  soul,  and  its  delivery 
from  purgatory.  The  devout  desire  to  benefit  departed 
souls  is  universal  in  Spain.  The  masses  a  man  appoints 
to  be  said  for  him  after  his  death,  are  privileged.  His 
soul  is  preferred  to  his  creditors.^  Philip  Y  provided  by 
his  will  that  one  hundred  thousand  masses  should  be  said 
in  his  behalf;  but  not  supposing  anywhere  near  so  great  a 
number  would  be  necessary  to  conduct  his  soul  to  heaven, 
he  very  generously  turned  over  all  the  surplus  to  the 
benefit  of  those  poor  solitary  souls  that  were  thought  very 
little  of  while  living,  and  still  less  when  dead. 

The  Portuguese  have  manners  and  customs  mostly  simi- 
lar to  the  Spaniards.  They  are  neither  so  tall,  nor  so  well 
proportioned  as  the  latter.  Their  women  are  beautiful 
when  young,  their  features  regular,  and  their  eyes  black, 
sparkling,  and  expressive,  their  brilliancy  remaining  after 
many  other  charms  are  fled.  They  have  great  vivacity 
of  manner,  their  veins,  according  to  Voltaire's  opinion  of 
the  ladies  of  southern  cliniates,^  being  filled  with  quick- 
silver, while  those  of  the  northern  are  with  milk.  They 
are  perpetually  dancing,  singing,  laughing,  and  talking,  and 
are  sprightly  and  vivacious  in  the  highest  degree.  In  Por- 
tugal all  are  in  love  from  the  day  of  their  nativity  to  that 
of  their  decease.  Love,  on  the  Tagus,  is  the  predominating 
passion. 

An  amusement  which  is  almost  peculiar  to  Spain  and 
Portugal  is  the  bull  fight.  This  savage  sport  seems  to 
have  had  its  origin  among  the  Romans,  and  to  have  been 
a  remnant  of  their  gladiatorial  displays.^  They  were  early 
known  in  Italy,  but  it  was  reserved  to  the  Spanish  penin- 
sula to  render  them  perpetual. 

These  crowning  scenes  of  the  circus  are  performed  with 
great  ceremony  and  excite  immense  interest.  A  flourish 
of  trumpets  precedes  the  commencement  of  the  combat. 


»  TraveU  through,  Europe,  iv,  84.    ^  Idem,  265.    ^Bell,  ii,  257,  note. 


From  a  small  hut,  at  the  side  of  an  area  enclosed  for  the 
purpose,  the  animal  springs  into  the  enclosure,  runs  around 
every  part  of  it,  seeking  in  vain  an  avenue  of  escape. 
Around  him  arranged  on  seats  are  twelve  or  fifteen  hun- 
dred persons,  waving  their  handkerchiefs  and  hats,^  and 
sending  up  their  shouts  of  joy,  which  only  has  the  eflect 
still  more  to  frighten  or  enrage  him.  He  bounds  from 
side  to  side  and  makes  his  first  attack  upon  the  picadores, 
prickers,  whose  pantaloons  are  lined  with  iron,  and  who 
are  armed  with  spears  or  lances,  and  mounted  on  horses. 
The  picadore  receives  him  with  a  lance,  and  with  its  iron 
point  galls  the  bull,  and  renders  him  more  furious.  The 
contest  between  the  bull  and  picadores  becomes  more  excit- 
ing and  dangerous,  requiring  great  dexterity  on  the  part 
of  the  latter.  The  bull,  through  this  contest,  retains  his 
strength,  and  frequently  unhorses  the  picadore,  goring  the 
horse  so  that  he  falls  dead  on  the  arena.  The  horses 
formerly  used  for  these  purposes  were  of  the  choicest  kind, 
but  at  present  those  of  the  most  ordinary  character  are 
made  use  of,  the  expectation  and  design  being  that  some 
of  them  shall  be  killed. 

After  the  contest  has  been  carried  on  sufficiently  long  be- 
tween the  bull  and  the  picadores,  and  a  sufficient  number 
of  horses  have  been  slain,  the  picadores  retire,  give  place  to 
the  chulos  or  tormentors,  who  are  on  foot,  and  carry  with 
them  long  scarlet  scarfs.  Theirs  is  the  perilous  task  of 
plunging  the  banderilla  into  the  body  of  the  animal  at  the 
junction  of  the  neck  and  shoulders.  This  is  a  small  staff 
about  two  feet  long,  furnished  at  one  extremity  with  a  bent 
spike,  while  at  the  other  are  attached  squibs  and  crackers. 
The  performances  of  the  chulos  are  much  aided  by  the 
scarlet  scarfs  which  they  keep  waving  before  the  eyes  of 
the  bull,  thus  creating  constant  deceptions,  of  which  they 
can  take  the  advantage.  These  pedestrian  chulos  ap- 
proach the  animal  with  caution ;  avoid  all  his  attacks  with 


^Malte  Bvfni,  vin,  93, 


94 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


I 


If! 
lii 


ability  and  address;  and  one  of  tliem  fixes  in  his  neck  the 
banderilla,  or  if  he  happens  to  fail  by  missing  his  mark, 
he  is  wounded  and  tossed  into  the  air  by  his  furious  adver- 
sary. Tormented  by  the  iron  and  the  fire,  the  bull  bel- 
lows, bounds,  turns  and  fights  with  desperate  fury. 

After  the  war  with  chulos  has  been  waged  a  sufficient 
length  of  time,  and  their  arts  of  attack  and  defense  are 
exhausted,  a  flourish  of  trumpets  announces  the  approach 
of  another  enemy  more  formidable  than  any  yet  encount- 
ered.    This  is  the  matadore,  holding  in  one  hand  a  sword 
and  in  the  other  a  flag,  which  he  unfurls  and,  with  it, 
attracts  the  eye  of  the  enraged  animal.     The  bull  has  now 
become  considerably  exhausted  by  loss  of  blood,  and  still 
more  by  his  excessive  exertions  against  his  various  assail- 
ants.    He  now  approaches  to  his  last  encounter.     Here  is 
a  single  conflict  between  the  man  and  the  bull,  and  hence 
the  ofiice  of  the  matadore  is  always  regarded  as  one  of  peril. 
The  spectators  now  bestow  their  excited  attention.    The  flag 
being  the  most  regarded  by  the  bull  he  springs  forward 
towards  that,  and  by  so  doing,  passes  under  the  left  arm  of 
the  matadore,  who,  with  his  right  hand  strikes  tlie  sword 
into  its  withers,  and  separating  two  vertebra,  dispatches 
his  victim  at  a  single  blow.     If  he  thus  succeeds  he  is 
hailed  with  the  applauses  of  the  whole  assembly,  but  if  he 
so  far  fails  to  cause  instant  death  as  that  the  bull  is  enabled 
before  he  dies  to  reach  some  other  place  than  that  prescribed 
by  the  rules  of  art,  hisses  and  groans  are  his  only  reward. 
If  the  matadore  misses  his  mark,  and  the  bull  kills  him, 
the  people  continue  shouting  bravo  until  he  falls  by  the 
hand  of  another. 

These  sanguinary  spectacles  retain  much  of  the  barbai-- 
ous  gallantry  of  the  middle  ages,  and  impress  the  strani^er 
with  no  very  favorable  idea  of  ^Spanish  civilization.  The 
people  in  these  cases  are  not  generally  satisfied  until  ten  or 
twelve  bulls  and  about  twenty  horses  have  fallen,  or  at 
least  one  matadore  has  lost  his  life. 


H»    ■    I      <    I        t,t    li      .   I  >l 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


95 


i 


"i 


I 

I 


2.  Society  as  it  has  developed,  or  is  developing  itself  in 
the  Italian  peninsula. 

The  Italian  peninsula  in  several  respects  bears  a  resem- 
blance to  the  Spanish : 

First.  N"ature  has  here,  as  in  the  Spanish  peninsula,  walled 
it  out  from  the  rest  of  Europe.  On  the  north  she  has 
planted  the  Alps,  which,  more  eflectually  than  the  Pyrenees, 
shut  out  Italy  from  the  continent  to  which  it  belongs. 

Second.  The  people  of  the  Italian  peninsula,  in  like  man- 
ner with  those  of  the  Spanish,  are  diverse  in  origin  and  hence 
variant  in  character.  We  have  before  had  occasion  to  in- 
quire as  to  the  early  ethnography  of  Italy,  and  have  found 
there  in  primitive  periods  many  peoples  of  diflerent  origin 
and  character.  Although  under  the  Roman  sceptre,  and 
during  its  sway  of  centuries,  these  diflerent  peoples  may 
have  attained  to  considerable  uniformity  of  character,  yet 
when  that  sceptre  came  to  be  broken,  the  sudden  inrush 
of  barbarians  planted  all  over  Italy  a  new  and  a  strange 
people.  The  Goth,  the  Lombard,  the  iN'orman,  and  others  of 
diflerent  tribes,  although  of  the  same  general  character,  car- 
ried south  of  the  Alps,  and  under  the  arch  of  Italian  skies, 
the  customs,  habits,  and  modes  of  life,  reared  and  per- 
fected amid  the  forests  of  Germany.  Here  was  required  a 
second  time  the  exercise  of  the  amalgamating  process,  and 
in  the  course  of  centuries  this,  together  with  other  causes, 
has  brought  about,  in  some  respects,  an  uniformity  of  cha- 
racter. 

Third.  The  religious  influences  under  which  for  a  great 
number  of  successive  centuries  the  people  of  the  two  pen- 
insulas have  lived  and  have  been  similar.  The  same  fasts 
feasts,  and  festivals,  the  same  holy  days,  the  same  inquisi- 
tion, although  more  stern  and  fearful  in  Spain,  the  same 
cumbersome  ceremonial  encircling  the  being  at  his  very 
birth,  and  never  for  a  single  moment  leaving  him  until,  if 
he  have  left  suflicient  means,  he  is  fairly  delivered  out  of 
purgatory,  must  all  tend  in  some  degree  to  assimilate  the 
character  of  the  peoples  of  the  two  peninsulas. 


\ 


96 


HISTORY  OB"  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


97 


Fourth.  The  climate,  soil  and  productions,  all  the  phy- 
sical influences  under  which  life  sustains  its  burdens, 
discharges  its  responsibilities,  and  develops  its  powers,  are 
essentially  the  same  upon  both  peninsulas.  These  probably 
produce  the  greatest  effect  in  the  different  quantities  of 
labor  which  are  required  for  the  purpose  of  continued 
existence.  A  busy  or  an  idle  life  may  reasonably  be  ex- 
pected to  produce  different  habits,  and  even  different  man- 
ners, customs  and  social  forms. 

Fifth.  The  same  absolute  form  of  government  has  gene- 
rally on  both  peninsulas  relieved  the  people  from  much 
active  interference  in  its  concerns,  and  left  them  to  spend 
their  time  in  such  other  matters  and  employments  as  they 
could  devise.  All  these  things  tend  to  render  the  inhabit- 
ants of  the  two  peninsulas  similar  in  their  character  and 
social  developments,  and  yet  in  the  midst  of  some  things 
that  are  common  we  shall  find  many  entirely  unlike. 

Assuming  that  each  one  of  these  peninsulas  presents  a 
people  of  a  homogeneous  character,  the  contrasts  they  pre- 
sent to  each  other  are  less  marked  and  peculiar  than  those 
presented  between  each  respectively,  and  the  people  of 
France.  The  French  people  constitute  a  kind  of  social 
centre  in  Europe,  and  present  many  points  of  comparison, 
mostly  of  contrast,  with  the  people  of  surrounding  nations. 
In  France,  severe  labor,  strong  passions,  and,  in  some  in- 
stances, great  wretchedness,  wear  out  life  much  earlier  than 
in  Italy,  where  heat  blunts  the  appetite,  so  that  they  live 
on  little,  where  their  habits  are  extremely  temperate,  their 
thirst  quenched  by  the  cool  waters  descending  from  the 
snows  of  the  Apennines;  where  the  climate  almost  dis- 
penses with  the  necessity  of  clothing;  and  sleep  holds 
much  longer  in  its  gentle  embrace  a  people  who  spend 
their  days  without  care,  and  their  nights  without  a  thought 
of  the  morrow.  The  Italians  are  little  subject  to  disease, 
the  relaxation  occasioned  by  heat  preventing  the  chronic, 
and  the  perspiration  arising  from  the  climate,  avoiding 
the  acute. 


In  regard  to  briskness  and  vivacity,  the  Italians  very 
much  resemble  the  Spaniards,  and  contrast  strongly  with 
the  French.  Although  in  the  pulpit,  on  the  theatre,  and 
even  in  conversation,  the  Italians  practice  a  good  deal  of 
action,*  yet  ordinarily  in  their  external  deportment,  they 
have  a  grave  solemnity  of  manner,  serious,  and  at  times 
almost  gloomy  in  its  character.  They  move  with  a  slow, 
composed  pace,  apparently  preferringthe  unconstrained  atti- 
tude of  an  antique  statue,  to  the  artificial  graces  of  a  French 
dancing  master,  or  the  erect  strut  of  a  German  soldier. 

In  regard  to  beauty,  a  style  of  face  peculiar  to  its  own 
inhabitants  is  said  to  prevail  in  each  different  nation  of 
Europe.  But  this  must  of  course  be  greatly  varied,  and 
marked  with  every  degree  of  discrimination  between  the 
extremes  of  beauty  and  ugliness. 

The  Italian  female  head  presents  a  great  profusion  of 
dark  hair,  sometimes  so  encroaching  upon  the  forehead  as 
to  render  it  short  and  narrow;  the  nose  either  aquiline  or 
continued  in  a  straight  line  from  the  lower  part  of  the 
brow ;  the  upper  lip  full  and  short;  the  eyes  large,  and  of 
a  sparkling  black.  The  Italian  eye  is  wonderfully  expres- 
sive, but  it  labors  under  one  disadvantage  and  that  is,  as 
tlie  iris  and  pupil  have  the  same  color,  the  contraction  and 
dilatation  of  the  latter  is  little  seen  by  which  the  eye  is 
abridged  of  half  its  powers.  The  complexion  is  of  a  clear 
brown,  sometimes  fair,  but  very  seldom  florid,  or  of  that 
bright  fairness  which  is  common  in  England  and  Saxony. 

IS^ature,  it  is  said,  could  not  place  more  happily,^  nor 
accord  with  more  eflect,  the  forehead,  eyes,  nose,  mouth, 
chin,  ears  and  neck,  than  in  the  Roman  women  ;  she  could 
not  possibly  employ  purer,  softer,  or  more  correct  forms ; 
all  the  distinct  parts  are  finished,  and  the  whole  is  com- 
plete. And  yet,  although  nature  has  endowed  the  Roman 
woman  with  so  much  beauty  of  form,  and  proportion,  and 
complexion,  yet  she  has  denied  her  those  fugitive  graces 


*  Travels  through  Europe,  i,  12,    '  Idem,  16. 
VI]  13 


i- 


98 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


that  give  so  miicli  cliarni  and  attraction.  The  eyes  have 
but  one  look,  the  mouth  hut  one  smile.  The  ])row  is  one 
of  marble,  of  unvarying  aspect,  disclosing  the  footprints 
neither  of  pleasure  nor  of  pain.  The  beautiful  features, 
although  moukled  upon  a  classic  model,  are  yet  deticient 
io  those  gentle  undulations  and  intinite  diversity  of  move- 
ments that  proclaim  tlie  power  of  sentiment  and  emotion. 
The  highest  style  of  beauty  is  found  only  in  those  features 
that  are  thoroughly  permeated  l)y  a  soul. 

The  Koman  beauty  fades  early  and  rapidly.  Unsustained 
by  the  power  of  mind  and  soul,  never  cultivated  by  exer- 
cise, overwhelmed  witli  sleep,  tlie  features  soon  become 
plump,  and  the  whole  form  loses  its  proportion.  Besides 
it  is  kept  too  much  shut  up,  and  in  the  shade,  to  continue 
its  full  bloom. 

That  part  of  Italy  wliich  most  resembles  fal>le  land  is 
Venice.  A  city  in  the  sea,  wdiose  streets  are  long  canals  of 
water,  whose  carriages  are  gondolas,  presents  both  to  the 
eye  and  ear  a  miracle  of  wonder.  Xo  rattling  carriage,  no 
clatter  of  lioof,  or  liardly  sound  of  footstep  greets  the  ear. 
Nought  but  the  noiseless  dip  of  the  oar,  and  the  arrow- 
like speed  of  the  gondola,  re(k^era  many  parts  of  Venice 
from  being  to  all  appearance  a  city  of  the  dead.  And  yet 
here  are  the  remains  of  that  wealtli  that  was  once  garnered 
up  from  every  quarter  of  the  world. 

Once  a  year,  on  Ascension  day,  was  performed  the  cere- 
Biony  of  marrying  the  Adriatic  to  the  doge.  Tlie  morning 
was  ushered  in  by  tlie  ringing  of  bells  and  the  tiring  of 
cannon.  Aliout  noon  tlie  doge,  attended  by  a  numerous 
party  of  the  senate  and  clergy,  goes  on  l)()ard  the  Bucentaur, 
roumi  which  a  number  of  splendid  yachts  and  gondolas 
row,  with  bands  of  music,  to  St.  Lido,  a  small  island  about 
two  miles  from  Venice.  Prayers  are  then  said,  after  which 
the  doge  drops  a  plain  gold  ring  into  the  sea,  with  these 
words,  **  Desponsamus  te  mare,  in  signum  veri,  perpetuii<iue 
domiuii."  *'  We  espouse  thee,  oh  sea,  in  sign  of  true  and 
perpetual  dominion.  "     And  the  sea,  like  a  modest  bride, 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


99 


of  course  assents  by  silence,  and  thus  the  espousal  is  reu- 
dered  complete. 

Tlie  Venetians  ai-e  a  lively,  ingenious  people,  extrava- 
gantly fond  of  public  amusements,  with  an  uncommon  relish 
for  humor,  and  yet  more  attached  to  the  real  enjoyments  of 
life,  than  to  those  which  depend  on  ostentation.  They  are 
in  general  tall  and  well  made,  with  a  ruddy  brown  color 
and  dark  eyes.  The  common  people  are  remarkably  sober, 
obliging  to  strangers,  and  gentle  in  their  intercourse  with 
each  other.  The  women  exhibit  a  fine  style  of  countenance 
with  expressive  features,  and  a  skin  of  a  rich  carnation. 

The  Venetians  are  extremely  fond  of  theatrical  plays,  of  * 
regattas  or  rowing  matches,  entering  most  heartily  into 
the  follies  and  entertainments  of  the  carnival.  Their  dis- 
guises give  occasion  to  many  love  adventures ;  and  there 
is  said  to  be  something  much  more  intriguing  in  the  amours 
of  Venice  than  in  those  of  other  countries.  During  the 
festivals,  riot,  debauchery,  and  licentiousness  are  carried 
to  the  greatest  excess. 

The  Venetian  ladies  are  amorously  inclined;  and  having 
little  check  upon  inclination,  each  is  very  much  governed 
by  immediate  impulse.  They  have  no  resources  of  study, 
no  duties  of  family  management,  and  hence  very  little  of  a 
serious,  useful  character  to  occupy  their  time.  They 
were  formerly  kept  much  in  confinement,  but  now  enjoy  a 
great  degree  of  freedom.  There  seems  to  be  a  great  revo- 
lution wrought  in  Venetian  husbands.  They  have,  to  a 
large  extent,  banished  from  Venetian  gallantry  not  only 
jeahnisy,  Init  also  poison  and  the  stiletto,  having  substituted 
in  their  places  the  innocent  mask.  Those  who  walk  the 
streets,  or  go  to  the  play  liouses.with  masks  actually  cover- 
ing their  faces,  arc  either  engaged  in  some  love  intrigue,  or 
would  have  others  think  so,  for  some  desire  that  reputa- 
tion, whether  actually  meriting  it  or  not. 

The  Venetian  courtesans  have,  at  times,  enjoyed  the 
special  protection  of  government.  Very  many,  if  not  the 
most  of  these,  are  sold  by  their  friends  in  their  infancy. 


I 


M 


100 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


101 


^  y 


l^'ll' 


The  agreement  of  sale  is  reduced  to  writing,  specifying 
the  sum  to  be  paid,  and  the  time  at  which  the  young  hidy 
is  to  be  delivered  up.  All  this  is  done  before  a  notary 
public  and  stands  valid  in  a  court  of  justice. 

Among  the  Roman  women  love  is  a  passion  possessed  of 
great  power.  It  is  witli  them  a  matter  of  business  or 
caprice,  but  is  soon  worn  out.  Their  heart  loves  the 
instant  it  arrives  at  maturity.  The  subject  of  love,  like 
the  weather,  forms  a  common  place  topic  of  conversation. 
When  the  daughter  does  not  eat  or  sleep,  the  mother  speaks 
of  her  as  having  a  fit  of  love  as  if  it  were  a  fit  of  disease, 
as  a  fever. 

The  girls  employ  tlieir  early  youth  in  practicing,  under 
the  maternal  eye,  the  lessons  they  liave  received  on  the  art 
of  catching  a  husband.^  But  in  this  they  are  often  foiled, 
as  the  men  are  found  on  their  guard.  The  most  notorious 
gallantry  does  not  seem  to  affect  their  reputation. 

But  it  has  been  remarked  that  we  look  in  vain  among 
the  women  for  that  tenderness  of  heart  which  penetrates, 
satisfies,  and  enchants ;  that  intimate  and  secret  life,  the 
mutual  bliss  of  two  lovers;  that  tenderness  which  forms  a 
pleasure  of  pain,  which  delights  in  sacrifices,  and  increases 
by  enjoyment ;  that  moral  love  which,  if  it  does  not  enchain 
or  govern  the  physical  passion,  at  least  decorates  and  veils 
it.  l^or  is  there  here  found  those  two  delightful  kinds  of 
friendship  between  the  sexes,  the  one  of  which  succeeds  to 
love,  the  other  imitates  it,  and  both  of  which  so  closely  re- 
semble it  as  to  be  often  mistaken  for  it. 

But  a  lady  speaking  of  Italian  gentlemen  says :  "  J^othing 
can  exceed  the  agreeableness  of  a  well  bred  Italian's  ad- 
dress,^ when  speaking  to  a  lady,  whom  they  alone  know 
how  to  flatter,  so  as  to  retain  her  dignity,  and  not  to  lose 
their  own ;  respectful,  yet  tender;  attentive,  not  officious. 
The  politeness  of  a  man  of  fashion  here  is  true  politeness ; 
free  from  all  affectation,  and  honestly  expressive  of  what  he 


really  feels,  a  true  value  for  the  person  spoken  to,  without 
the  smallest  desire  of  shining  himself;  equally  removed 
from  foppery  on  one  side  or  indifference  in  the  other."  ^ 

The  Italians  are  accounted  the  greatest  loungers  in  the 
world.  While  walking  in  the  fields,  or  stretched  listlessly 
in  the  shade,  they  seem  to  enjoy  the  serenity  and  genial 
warmth  of  their  climate  with  luxurious  indulgence.  They 
neither  run  into  the  exces.ses  of  the  English,  or  display  the 
great  frisky  vivacity  of  the  French,  or  the  invincible 
phlegm  of  the  German.^  They  discover  a  species  of  sedate 
sensibility  to  every  source  of  enjoyment  from  which  they 
seemingly  derive  a  large  share  of  happiness. 

Society  is  on  a  very  agreeable  footing  in  Florence.  Be- 
sides the  converzationes  which  are  enjoyed  here  as  in  other 
towns  in  Italy,  the  nobility  are  in  the  habit  of  meeting 
daily  at  the  casino.  This  meeting  much  resembles  the 
clubs  in  London.  They  employ  themselves  in  playing 
various  games,  as  billiards,  cards,  etc.,  or  converse  the 
whole  evening  just  as  they  think  proper.  Women  as  well 
as  men  are  admitted  members.^ 

The  Sicilians  are  very  animated  in  conversation,  and 
their  action  so  expressive  of  their  sentiments  that  without 
hearing  the  language  used,  a  person  may  comprehend  the 
subject  of  their  discourse.^  The  Sicilian  ladies  are  sprightly 
and  agreeable,  have  remarkable  fine  hair  and  adorn  it  to 
the  greatest  advantage.  They  are  amorous,  marry  young, 
and  frequently  live  to  see  the  fifth  or  even  sixth  genera- 
tion. 

Naples,  the  fiibled  product  of  the  siren,  has  never  belied 
its  origin.  The  people  here  have  few  avocations  of  busi- 
ness to  excite  their  activity;  no  public  walks  or  gardens  to 
which  they  can  resort,  and  are,  therefore,  far  more  fre- 
quently than  elsewhere,  seen  sauntering  and  conversino* 
in  the  streets.  In  the  streets  of  other  great  European 
cities  the  noise  of  carriages  falls  with  its  ceaseless  din  upon 


*  Tramh  tJtmuyh  Europe,  i,  24.    ^  Idem,  21. 


»  v.. 


7'nfnls  fhrouffh  Europe,  r,  21.    ''Tdem,  34.    ^Lhm,  200-7.    'Mem,  377-8. 


I 


i 


102 


HISTOKY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


103 


tlic  ear,  but  in  Naples  it  is  that  of  luima;i  voices.  Whole 
streets  are  full  of  talkers,  the  aggregated  ehiek  of  whose 
voiees  fairly  drown  the  noise  of  earriages.  And  yet 
although  almost  all  the  peo[»le  are  in  the  streets,  and  all 
talking  to  tlie  very  top  of  their  voices,  there  are  very  few 
riots  or  outrages  that  ever  happen  in  Na^fles.  This  arises 
from  two  causes,  one  the  national  character  of  the  Italians, 
which  is  quiet,  submissive,  and  averse  to  all  kinds  of  riot 
and  sedition.  Tlie  other  cause  is  to  be  tound  in  the  fact 
that  the  common  people  are  universally  sober,  never  being 
inflamed  with  strong  and  spirituous  liquors,  as  tliey  are  in 
the  northern  countries.^  This  latter  characteristic  may  be 
said  to  extend  through  all  tlie  southern  countries  of  Europe, 
and  this  fact  goes  vcvy  far  to  show  that  God  has  adapted 
the  tastes  of  men  to  the  necessities  of  their  physical  organ- 
izations. Did  the  same  tastes  in  this  respect  prevail  at  the 
south  as  at  the  north,  llie  greater  heat  of  the  climate,  the 
finer  organization,  and  the  higlier  nervous  susceptibility 
of  the  people,  would  undoubtedly  drive  them  on  to  excesses 
which  might  entirely  de[»opulate  the  whole  region.  In 
Naples,  iced  water  and  lemonade,  carried  about  in  little 
barrels,  and  sold  in  small  quantities  for  the  merest  tritle, 
are  among  the  luxuries  of  the  very  lowest  of  the  people. 

It  is  in  Naples  that  we  meet  with  the  Lazzaroni,  a  very 
numerous  class  of  people,  computed  at  more  than  thirty 
thousand,  the  far  greater  part  of  wliom  have  neither  home 
nor  fixed  hid)itati(>n.  Favored  bv a  climate  the  most  1  >cni o-o, 
they  spend  their  days  in  tlie  street,  and  their  nights  under 
porticos,  piazzas,  or  any  kind  of  shelter  they  can  find. 
Some  of  them  fish,  otliers  carry  l)urdcns,  but  in  genci'al 
they  will  engage  in  no  labor  except  under  the  spui-  of  neces- 
sity, and  whenever  driven  to  it  will  relapse  into  their 
former  indolence  as  soon  as  thev  liave  earned  sufficient  to 
buy  a  few  slices  (^f  melon,  or  some  maccaroni.  They  are 
the  very  princes  of  loungei's,  and  more  commonly  are  exhi- 


^  IVv/r/Z.si  flu'onf/I/  Europe,  T,  327. 


bited  half  naked  in  the  streets.  The  dress  of  all  the  lower 
people  is  miserable,  and  yet  quite  picturesque,  consisting 
prineijuiJly  of  a  brown  cloiik  thr-own  over  the  shoulders 
in  graceful  fi)Ids.  These  classes  very  seldom  taste  butcher 
meat,  but  subsist  almost  entirely  upon  fruit,  onions,  vege- 
tables and  fish. 

A  full  knowledge  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the 
Italians  cannot  be  had  without  a  brief  consideration  of  the 
carnival.     This  is  an  annual  religious  festival,  some  traces 
of  which  may  be  found  in  all  catholic  countries,  but  it  is 
more  especially  celebrated  among  the  Italians,  and  in  the 
cities  of  Venice  and  Rome,  more  than  in    other  cities  of 
Italy.     It  has  been  less  celebrated   in    Venice  for  some 
years  past,  so  that  Rome,  in  this  respect,  has  l)ecome  the 
great  centre  of  interest.     The  eiglit  days  precedimr  Ash 
Wednesday  are  given  up  to  its  festivities.     They  ar'e  held 
principally  in  the  corso,  a  street  about  a  mile  in  length, 
very  narrow,  and  lined  with  lofty  houses  having  over-hang- 
ing balconies.     These  approach  so  near  to  each  other,  that 
persons  on  opposite  balconies  are  not  only  brought  within 
speaking  distance,  but  are  enabled  toexchange  bouquetsand 
sugar  plums.     All  these  balconies,  upon  carnival  days,  are 
crowded  with  men  and  women,  many  of  the  latter  gayly 
dressed.     In   the  street  below  numerous  carriages  are  in 
motion,  filled  with  gay  parties,  while  crowds  of  pedestrians 
masked,  and  clad  in  every  variety  of  costume,  are  playing  all 
kinds  of  pranks  that  come  within  the   bounds  of  decency. 
Among  the  masks  are  punchinellos  with  enormous  noses, 
and  protuberant  backs  and  stomachs;   harlequins  in  parti- 
colored vestments,  wielding  daggers  of  lath;   quack  doc- 
tors with  long  catalogues  of  nostrums  for  all  imaginable 
diseases,  and  lawyers  gowned  and  wigged,  some  after  a 
most  strange  and  grotesque  fashion.     Bonbons  and  con- 
fetti are  thrown   down   from  the   balconies,  and  persons 
become   so   covered   from   head  to   foot,  as  to   resemble 
mi  lers      The  natural  gravity  of  the  Roman  citizens  becomes 
suddenly  changed  into  the  extreme  of  mirthful  vivacity 


.'*-' 


104 


mSTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


and  every  kind  of  amusement  is  followed  with  the  greatest 
eagerness.  No  theatrical  entertainments  are  permitted  in 
Eome,  except  during  the  carnival,  and  then  tliey  are 
pushed  to  excess,  as  if  to  make  amends  for  their  long 
privation.  The  carnival  is  altogether  of  six  weeks'  con- 
tinuance, but  it  only  becomes  extremely  intensified  during 
the  last  eight  days.  Then  all  classes  enter  into  it,  and  the 
outbursts  of  humor  spread  to  men,  women,  and  children, 
descending  to  the  lowest  ranks  and  becoming  universal. 
Even  tliose  who  are  unmasked,  reject  their  usual  clothes, 
and  assume  some  whimsical  dress.  Young  people  are 
found  assuming  the  long  beard,  tottering  step,  and  other 
concomitants  of  old  age,  while  the  aged  choose  the  bib 
and  rattle  of  childhood.  At  five  o'clock,  r.  m.,  commence 
the  horse  races.  The  horses  have  no  riders,  but  are  urged 
forward  by  metal  balls,  full  of  sliarp  points,  which  are 
fiistened  to  the  trappings,  and  which  pierce  the  more  the 
greater  the  speed.  To  these  the  crowd  in  the  corso  give 
way,  and  they  rush  over  the  pavement  as  if  animated  by 
personal  passions.  In  the  evening  the  windows  are  all 
illuminated.  There  is  probably  no  more  perfect  sample 
of  bedlam  anywhere  to  be  found,  than  Eome  during  the 
last  eight  days  of  the  carnival.  It  is  so  called  from  carni 
vale,  fiirewell  to  meat,  as  from  Ash  Wednesday,  the  first 
day  of  lent,  there  is  a  strict  abstinence  from  all  eating  of 
meat  for  forty  days. 

At  Rome  there  are  reckoned  three  classes  of  persons, 
the  pope,  the  clergy,  and  the  people.^  The  secular  and 
regular  clergy  are  reckoned  at  a  sixth  of  the  entire  popula- 
tion. The  character  of  the  people  is  described  as  possess- 
ing little  reason,  a  tolerable  share  of  wit,  and  a  great  deal 
of  imaghiation.  Rome  is  one  of  the  few  places  in  Europe  in 
which  the  onward  march  of  time  dispenses  habits  without 
bestowing  experience.  The  Roman  people  have  lost  their 
identity.     Every  house  in  Rome  on  which  a  cardinal  has 


EQUOPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


105 


*  Travels  through  Europe,  i,  292. 


placed  liis  arms,  becomes  a  place  of  refuge  for  creditors 
against  judicial  executions.*  Tliese  asylums  are  very  num- 
erous, and.  not  unfrequently  made  a  traffic  of  by  some  of 
the  cardinals.  Impunity  from  the  payment  of  debts  is  a 
soui'ce  of  revenue  at  Rome. 

There  is  one  custom  remaining  to  be  noticed,  which  has 

no  doubt  largely  influenced  the  social  life  of  the  Italians. 

I  mean  that  embraced  in  cicisbeism.     Formerly  married 

women  were  under  great  restraint  in  Italy,  owing  to  the 

jealousy  of  their  husbands.     When  the  free  manners  of 

France  came  to  prevail,  these  unnatural  restraints  required 

modification  or  abandonment.     The  compromise  made  was 

that  the  wife  should  go  into  public  under  the  guidance  of 

a  friend  of  the  husband's  choosing.^    Thus  a  maiTied 

woman  appeared  in  public  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  man, 

who,  from  their  frequently  whispering  together,  was  called 

her  cicisbeo.     It  was,  at  the  same  time,  stipulated  that  the 

lady  while  abroad  should  converse  with  no  other  man  but 

m  his  presence,  and  with  his  approbation. 

In  process  of  time,  however,  as  might  reasonably  be 
expected,  the  lady  came  to  have  something  to  say  relative 
to  the  choice  of  lier  cicisbeo,  and  hence  from  the  husband's 
It  came  to  be  the  wife's  friend  who  was  the  object  of 
choice.  In  many  instances,  he  was  a  poor  relation  or  hum- 
ble friend,  who,  by  this  means,  procured  an  admission  into 
society,  and  was  carried  about  to  public  diversions  as  an 
appendage  to  the  lady. 

The  cicisbeo  visits  the  lady  at  her  toilet,  and,  having 
arranged  the  plan  of  passing  the  evening,  retires  before 
dmner.  It  is  usual  all  over  Italy  for  the  husband  and 
wife  to  dme  together  except  on  great  occasions,  as  on  that 
of  a  public  feast.  After  dinner  the  husband  retires  and 
the  cicisbeo  returns,  and,  taking  possession  of  the  lady  con- 
ducts her  to  the  public  walk,  the  converzatione,  the  opera 
or  other  place  of  amusement.     He  tends  upon  her  with 

*  Trarels  through  Europe,  r,  291.    ""  Mavm-,  xvn  131 
VI]  14 


U 


106 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


107 


the  most  pointed  assiduity  until  the  amusements  of  the 
evening  are  over.  He  then  accompanies  her  home  and 
delivers  up  his  charge  to  the  husband.  The  husband  is 
also  generally  engaged  in  a  similar  manner,  and  both  re- 
sign  their  charges  when  the  business  of  the  evening  is  over. 

This  custom,  so  similar  to  the  eortejos  of  Spain,  has 
prevailed  the  most  extensively  in  Genoa,  although  its  in- 
fluence has  been  felt  all  over  Italy.  It  is  now  somewhat  in 
a  state  of  decay.  It  has  given  rise  to  much  scandal,  and 
in  some  instances  undoubtedly  with  good  reason,  but  the 
wholesale  charges  that  have  been  made  against  it  have 
generally  been  considered  as  without  adequate  foundation. 

It  is  a  matter  of  no  little  surprise  how  men,  both  in  Spain 
and  Italy,  can  pass  so  much  of  their  time  witli  women. 
But  the  answer  which  is  substantially  the  same  in  l)oth  is 
quite  satisfactory.  The  mild  climate  and  great  fertility  of 
soil  render  labor  and  business  very  little  necessary  for  the 
support  of  life.  The  nobility  dare  not  intermeddle  in 
politics.  They  find,  in  Italy,  no  employment  in  the  army 
or  navy.  They  have  no  hunting  amusements,  and  their 
temperance  forbids  all  those  that  arise  out  of  drinking. 
Gaming  it  is  true,  is  an  avenue  into  which  some  rush  to 
avoid  the  ennui  of  mere  existence.  But  that  is  but  a 
single  avenue,  and  all  have  not  a  turn  for  gaming.  Nor 
may  those  who  have,  desire  to  be  thus  constantly  occupied. 
Under  all  these  circumstances  it  must  cease  to  surprise 
that  so  many  are  driven  to  the  company  and  conversation 
of  women  to  lighten  the  burdens  which  time  lays  so  heavily 
upon  them. 

3.  Society  as  it  has  developed,  or  is  developing  itsell  in 

Switzerland. 

The  primitive  inhabitants  of  Switzerland  were  the 
ancient  Helvetii.  At  the  fall  of  the  western  Roman  empire 
the  Alemanni,  Burgundians  and  Ostrogoths  took  posses- 
sion of  the  almost  depopulated  country,  permitting  the 
aborigines,  the  Helvetians,   to  retain   their  customs  and 


laws.  These  latter  are  supposed  to  have  sprung  from  a 
Yovy  ancient  braticli  of  the  Celtic  race.  By  means  of  their 
intermixture  with  tlie  former,  the  German  element  came 
largely  to  predominate.^  There  are  exceptions  to  this,  how- 
ever, in  the  inhabitants  of  the  canton  of  Tessin,  who  are 
of  Italian  descent,  and  also  in  those  of  the  canton  of 
Geneva,  who  are  of  French  lineage. 

In  the  latter,  the  city  of  Geneva  is  much  celebrated. 
Education  is  there  cheap  and  liberal,  and  the  citizens  of 
both  sexes  are  remarkably  well  instructed.  Even  mechan- 
ics in  the  intervals  of  their  labor  are  said  to  amuse  them- 
selves with  the  works  of  Locke,  Montesquieu  and  J^ewton.^ 

There  is  here  one  peculiar  and  very  excellent  custom. 
Parents  form  societies  for  their  children  at  a  very  early 
period  of  their  lives.  These  societies  consist  of  ten,  twelve, 
or  more  children  of  the  same  sex,  and  nearly  of  the  same 
age  and  situation  in  life.  They  assemble  once  a  week  in 
the  houses  of  their  respective  parents,  who  entertain  them 
with  tea,  coffee,  biscuits  and  fruit,  and  then  leave  them  to 
indulge  in  free  conversation.  This  connection,  thus  early 
commenced,  is  strictly  kept  up  through  the  whole  of  life, 
whatever  changes  may  occur  in  individual  circumstances. 
To  their  latest  hours,  they  continue  to  pass  some  evenings 
every  year  with  tlie  companions  and  friends  of  their  youth.^ 
Such  a  fraternity,  thus  early  established,  and  life-long  in  its 
continuance,  is  both  delightful  and  instructive. 

During  several  months  every  year  a  large  number  of 
citizens  are  much  occupied  in  firing  at  a  mark  which  is 
placed  at  a  proper  distance,  and  the  most  expert  marksman,* 
after  a  suflicieiit  number  of  trials,  is  declared  king,  before 
whom  a  mock  battle  was  Ibught  with  great  spirit  by  two 
nearly  equal  bodies  of  troops. 

The  Swiss  are  an  interesting  subject  of  study.  Shut 
out  from  the  rest  of  Europe  by  the  mountain  barriers  by 


* Iconographic  Encydopadla,  in,  loli.    ''  Mawv,  xvi,  203, 203.    ^ Idem  204 
• /f/<J;/^  205,  200. 


'V 


108  HISTOKT  OF  CIVILIZATION. 

which  they  are  surrounded,  their  homes  planted  amid 
scenery  that  reveals  to  the  beholder  visions  of  terror  and 
sublimity,  their  intercourse  is  more  with  nature  than  with 
man,  and  the  character  reared  under  such  influences  is  a 
matter  of  curious  investigation.     The  true  Swiss  character 
is  found  the  most  clearly  displayed  in  the  forest  cantons 
amid  the  recesses  of  the  Alps.     In  Glacis,  for  instance,  the 
antiquated  manners  of  its  inhabitants,  and  their  still  more 
ancient  habitations,'  render  it  like  a  place  of  the  fifteenth 
century.     The  date  of  their  construction  is  marked  on 
almost  all  the  houses,  and  some  of  them  have  stood  more 
than  five  hundred  years.     They  are  painted  with  various 
coloi-s,  and  on  many  of  them  historical  events  are  repre- 
sented     The  streets  are  crooked  and  narrow,  and  the  lotty 
mountains  shut  out  the  sun  except  for  about  four  hours 

^^Muclf  of  Switzerland  is  inhabited  by  shepherds   and 
husbandmen.     These  are  .far  removed  from  the  sphere  ot 
ambition  and  intrigue,  and  apparently  are  leading  a  very 
quiet   and  peaceful  life   amid  their  mountain   seclusion 
They  appear  honest,  simple,  and  possessed  of  much  moral 
purity      But  all  that  is  probably  overrated,  as  well  as  tlie 
enviable  degree  of  happiness  they  are  supposed  to  enjoy. 
The  traveler  who  visits  them  in  the  most  favorable  season 
of  the  year,  himself  impressed  by  the  grandeur  of  the 
scenery  by  which  he  is  surrounded,  finding  himselt  the 
subject  of  new   sensations  and  emotions,  looks   with   a 
charmed  eye  upon  all  the  people,  and  naturally  transfers 
to  them  those  qualities  and  virtues  which  he  supposes  those 
extraordinary  physical  influences  would  tend  to  produce. 
But  there  is  no  doubt  a  simplicity  and  honesty  there  pre- 
vailing far  in  advance  of  most,  if  not  all,  other  European 
countries.     But  neither  in  Switzerland,  nor  in  other  coun- 
tries do  we  find  ignorance  and  poverty  united  with  high 
moral  qualities.     In  some  of  the  cantons,  however,  where 


EUROPK  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


109 


i 


education  is  diffused,  aud  industry  and  commerce  have 
become  sources  of  wealth,  the  people  are  contented  and 
happy. 

The  Swiss  have  little  taste  for  general  society.^  •  Hence  they 
have  few  social  habits,  and  little  that  is  purely  artificial. 
The  men  meet  to  converse,  smoke,  and  walk  about.  The 
usages  of  society  hang  so  lightly  about  them,  and  so  great 
is  the  simplicity  of  manners,  that  it  is  not  difficult  to  dis- 
cover the  character  of  the  ijidividual,  almost  at  the  first 
interview.  There  is  a  great  diversity  of  physiognomies 
among  people  of  every  age,  but  more  especially  in  the 
young ;  there  is  an  extreme  mobility  of  feature ;  and  their 
expressions  are  characterized  by  ingenuousness  and  vivacity. 

But  what  is  lacking  in  general  society  is  probably  more 
than  made  up  in  other  ways.  It  is  not  too  much  to  sup- 
pose that  their  converse  with  nature  is  a  source  of  much 
quiet  enjoyment.  But  aside  from  this,  the  Swiss  enter 
more  largely  into  a  realization  of  home  pleasures.  It  is 
too  often  the  case,  that  these,  and  those  of  general  society, 
bear  to  each  other  an  inverse  ratio.  Domestic  happiness, 
conjugal  and  parental  affections,  as  well  as  the  other  virtues 
of  private  life,  are  fiir  more  common  in  Switzerland,  than 
in  countries  where  social  pleasures  are  better  understood, 
and  where  the  feelings  are  less  concentrated. 

The  Swiss  are  generally  tall,  well  proportioned,  active 
aud  laborious.  Bravery,  love  of  labor,  attachment  to 
their  country,  and  respect  for  ancient  customs  and  in- 
stitutions, form  the  principal  features  in  the  national  cha- 
racter : 

Dear  is  that  shed  to  which  his  soul  conforms, 
And  dear  that  hill  which  lifts  him  to  the  storms  j 
And,  as  a  child,  when  scaring  sounds  molest, 
Clings  close  and  closer  to  the  mother's  breast ; 
So  the  loud  torrent,  and  the  whirlwind's  roar, 
But  bind  him  to  his  native  mountains  more. 


^MaUe  Brun^yih^H^. 


'Malte  Bruii,  vii,  5G7. 


110 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


The  mass  of  the  people  are  more  euliorhteiied  than  iu 
other   countries;    in  some  of  tke  cantons,   not   only  the 
wealthy,  but  the  peasantry  also,  cultivate    literature  and 
the  arts.     A  general  simplicity  of  manners,  an  open  and 
unaffected  frankness,  and  an  invincible  spirit  of  freedom 
characterizes  the  iidiabitants  of  most  of  the  cantons.     Dif- 
ferent costumes,  of  which  the  origin  is  very  ancient,  dis- 
tinguish the  people  in  moat  of  the  cantons.     In  several, 
sumptuary  laws  have  been  introduced,  to  banish  all  the 
tendencies  to  luxury.     Games   of  chance  are  prohibited, 
but  gymnastic  exercises  are  the  daily  amusements  of  the 
young.     They  employ  themselves  frequently  in  the  race,  in 
wrestling,  in  throwing  the  dart,  or  in  shooting  at  a  target. 
The  cleanliness  of  the  houses  and  the  people,  are  pecu- 
liarly striking.     In  the  city  of  Berne  the  streets,  and  every 
part  of  the  city,  are  kept  thoroughly  clean  by  the  numer- 
ous fountains  and  limpid  streams  which  water  it.     In  the 
country  the  original  simplicity  of  the  pastoral  life  is  still 
preserved,  and  one  often  meets  with  veneral)le  figures  witli 
long  beards  resembhng  the  picturesof  the  ancient  patriarchs. 
There  is  great  frankness  of  manner,  and  a  fund  of  original 
humor.      They  are  remarkable  for  quickness  of  repartee, 
and  rude  sallies  of  wit.     There  prevails  among  them  great 
equality,  not  only  political,  but  in  many  places  also  of  con- 
dition.*    The  houses  are  built  of  wood,  large,  solid  and 
compact,  with  great  pent-house  roofs,  that  hang  very  low 
and  extend  beyond  the  area  of  the  foundation.     This  pecu- 
liar structure  serves  to  keep  otfthe  snow,  and  accords  well 
with  the  beautiful  wildness  of  the  countr3\ 

So  very  great  is  the  sim])licity  prevailing  in  some  remote 
parts  of  Switzerland,  that  neither  attorney  nor  notary  is  to 
be  found  there,^  and  contracts  instead  of  being  written  on 
parchment,  are  inscribed  on  pieces  of  wood.  There  are 
there  neither  locks,  thieves,  nor  pilferers.  In  one  of  the 
forest  cantons,  on  each  side  of  the  road,  are  to  be  found 


^  Ma n  n e rs  a n d  Vadoms,  ii ,  S: I .     -  Me m ,  85 . 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


Ill 


I 


several  ranges  of  shops  uninhabited,*  yet  filled  with  various 
goods  of  which  the  prices  are  marked.  Those  desiring  to 
become  purchasers  enter  the  shops,  take  away  the  mer- 
chandise and  deposit  the  price,  which  the  owners  call  for 
in  the  evening. 

A  very  remarkable  circumstance  attending  the  city  of 
Berne  is,  that  it  contains  a  particular  street  in  which,  until 
recently  or  even  at  the  present  time,  the  inhabitants  enjoy 
the  privilege  of  acquitting  or  condemning  any  one  of  their 
own  body  in  affairs  of  life  and  death ;  ^  and  as  every  indi- 
vidual who  resides  in  it  possesses  the  right  of  voting  on 
these  occasions,  houses  are  there  considerably  more  valu- 
able than  in  other  quarters  of  the  town. 

In  that  part  of  Switzerland  called  the  Vallais,  idiots  and 
those  afiiieted  with  the  goitres  are  frequently  to  be  met 
with.  The  latter  are  large  excrescences  of  flesh  that  grow 
from  the  throat,  and  oiten  increase  to  an  enormous  size. 
Idiocy  also  often  abounds  among  these.  The  same  causes 
probably  operate  to  produce  both,  but  what  they  are  seems 
never  to  have  been  very  well  understood.  According  to 
some  accounts  the  idiots  meet  with  great  respect  among 
the  people,'^  being  considered  as  blessings  from  heaven. 
This  is  very  probably  confined  to  the  lower  classes  of  peo- 
ple. They  call  them  "  souls  of  God  without  sin,"  and  are 
often  preferred  by  their  parents  before  their  other  children, 
because  they  are  incapable  of  intentional  criminality,  and 
are  therefore  considered  certain  of  future  happiness. 

4.  Society  as  it  has  developed  or  is  developing  itself 
among  the  German  nations. 

The  valleys  of  the  Rhine,  the  We8er,the  Elbe,  the  Oder, 
and  the  upper  Danube,  are  peopled  by  the  German  race. 
The  descendants  of  the  old  Teutonic  stock  are  still  found 
in  the  homes  of  their  ancestors.  Their  country,  occupying 
the  centre  of  Europe,  presents  great  variety  in  its  surface, 


^Manners  and  Cudonift,  ii,  85.    ^ Idem,  87.    ^ Idem,  94 


I 


112 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


diversity  in  its  soil,  and  difference  in  its  physical  aspects 
and  influences.  The  different  stocks  into  which  the  old 
Teutonic  race  have  become  divided  are  so  far  modified,  or 
variant  from  each  other,  as  to  be  well  adapted  to  the  con- 
ditions under  which  they  exist. 

There  is  but  little  strong  feeling  of  race  existing  among 
the  Germans.  This  great  country,  with  its  teeming  popu- 
lation, after  sending  off  so  many  swarms  of  emigrants,  is 
far  from  presenting  any  true  unity  either  in  itself  or  its 
people.  It  presents,  and  has  through  all  the  centuries,  a 
strange  instance  of  a  people  essentially  one,  and  yet  so 
split  up  into  different  principalities,  powers,  and  nations, 
as  to  have  their  sympathies,  and  almost  communications 
with  each  other,  limited  to  the  subjects  of  the  king,  elector 
or  landgrave  under  whose  sway  they  lived.  It  is  owing  to 
this  strange  political  anomaly  that  the  power  of  the  Ger- 
man has  been  so  little  directly  felt  in  Europe.  The  man- 
ners, customs,  and  social  life  of  the  German  have  been 
very  considerably  modified  by  it. 

A  love  of  liberty  has  ever  been  a  strong  characteristic  of 
the  German  mind,  and  yet  Germany  has,  for  many  centuries, 
been  divided  into  a  great  number  of  little  petty  principali- 
ties, in  which  the  sovereigns,  in  attempting  to  ape  those  of 
larger  domains,  have  been  necessarily  compelled  to  oppress 
their  subjects,  fettering  all  their  energies  by  subjecting  them 
to  a  grievous  load  of  taxation.  This  applies  more  espe- 
cially in  those  earlier  divisions  known  as  the  raarquisate  of 
Brandenburg,  Pomerania,  Lusatia,  Moravia,  Bohemia  and 
Austria.^  In  the  free  imperial  cities,  the  burghers  gene- 
rally enjoy  great  privileges,  and  the  peasants  in  some 
portions  of  the  country,  as  on  the  Rhine  and  in  Franconia, 
have  been  much  less  oppressed  than  in  others.  The  politi- 
cal condition  of  a  people  always  exerts  a  strong  influence 
upon  their  manners,  customs,  and  the  spirit  lying  at  the 
foundation  of  their  social  life. 


Travels  through  Euro%)e,  ii,  29,  30. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


113 


The  modern  Germans  have  large  heads,  with  the  ante- 
rior part  of  the  cranium  elevated  and  fully  developed.^ 
This  peculiarity  of  form  exists  in  them  in  a  greater  degree 
tlian  either  the  French  or  English.  Their  intellectual 
power  is  great,  especially  the  reflective.  They  love  re- 
search,  and  profound  investigation.  They  have  a  strong 
moral  sense,  a  deep  love  of  truth  and  rectitude,  unshaken 
fidelity,  veneration  for  the  female  sex,  and  attachment  to 
the  ruling  princes.  They  have  ever  been  esteemed  an 
honest,  hospitable  people,  free  from  artifice  and  disguise, 
open  and  social  in  their  general  manner.  They  are  natu- 
rally phlegmatic  and  saturnine,  requiring  very  little  variety, 
and  enduring  the  languid  uniformity  of  life  always  with 
patience,  and  often  with  satisfaction. 

The  German  character  exhibits  nothing  of  the  fire  of 
the  south,  and  little  of  the  elasticity  that  prevails  in  more 
southern  climes.  It  is  distinguished  by  no  nicety  of  taste, 
by  no  rapidity  in  the  movement  of  its  elements.  It  lacks, 
also,  the  duplicity  that  too  frequently  characterizes  the  move- 
ments of  the  southern  mind.  But  it  possesses  sterling 
qualities.^  The  frame  is  powerful ;  the  features  strongly 
marked;  the  hair  mostly  blonde;  the  eyes  blue  or  gray; 
the  carriage  firm  and  sedate ;  the  manner  fixed  and  de- 
termined. 

The  ladies  have  generally  fine  complexions,  and  some 
of  them,  especially  in  Saxony,  possess  great  delicacy  of 
feature  and  shape.  Although  the  French  exhibit  more 
expression  in  the  countenance,  yet  the  Germans  have  the 
advantage  in  the  fairness  of  their  skin,  and  the  bloom  of 
their  complexion. 

The  Germans  are  great  smokers  and  drinkers.  It  is 
a  most  wise  provision  of  Providence,  that  the  strong 
taste  for  stimulating  liquors  should  be  limited,  in  a  great 
degree,  to  the  old  Teutonic  stock;  to  men  of  large  bodies 


^Prkhard,  in,  393.    ^Iconographic  Meview,  in,  131. 
VI]  15 


114 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


and  phlegmatic  temperament,  whose  powers,  both  of  body 
and  mind,  are  so  slow,  as  to  render  a  resort  to  stimulants 
often  salutary,  and  seldom  injurious,  unless  indulged  in  to 
excess. 

The  common  people  are  laborious  and  honest,  but  slow 
and  heavy  ;^  the  merchants,  fair  in  their  dealings,  hospita- 
ble and  complaisant ;  the  nobility,  men  of  great  honor, 
but  valuing  themselves  very  greatly  upon  birth  and  family. 
All  the  sons  of  noblemen  inherit  their  fathers'  titles,  and 
this,  while  it  is  agreeable  to  a  sense  of  justice,  and  does 
credit  to  the  German  feeling,  at  the  same  time  greatly 
perplexes  the  heralds  and  genealogists  of  that  country. 
Many  of  the  princes  being  poor,  their  younger  sons  often 
engage  in  the  service  of  the  emperor,  the  electors,  or  some 
sovereign  state ;  or  procure  some  of  the  ecclesiastical  pre- 
ferments so  numerous  in  catholic  countries. 

Germany  has  always  been  divided  into  numerous  politi- 
cal divisions.  At  one  period  the  number  of  these  was 
about  three  hundred.  At  present  they  number  about 
thirty-six.     They  have  been  subject  to  great  changes. 

Each  political  division  must  of  course  have  its  court,  its 
palace,  its  officers,  its  standing  army.  All  this  requires  a 
heavy  amount  of  taxation  upon  the  people. 

The  feudal  system  has  j)robably  lingered  longer,  and  left 
in  the  social  fabric  more  remains  in  Germany  than  in  any 
other  country  of  Europe.  The  castle-crowned  hills  that 
mark  the  course  of  the  Rhine,  more  strongly  perhaps  than 
other  parts  of  Germany,  proclaim  the  strongholds  of  the 
feudal  barons.  One  of  the  consequences  of  the  firm  esta- 
blishment and  long  continuance  of  the  system  was  tha 
extension  of  serfdom  over  almost  the  whole  of  Germany. 
Wherever  this  prevails  a  barrier  is  erected  between  the 
ownership  and  the  cultivation  of  lands,  between  idleness 
and  labor.  The  first  reaps  where  it  has  not  sowed ;  the 
second  sows  where  it  cannot  reap.     That  great  natural  law 


in 


Tramh  through  Europe,  n,  29. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


115 


that  should  award  to  labor  the  result  of  its  own  toils  is 
most  signally  violated.  But  although  down-trodden  for 
centuries  yet  its  self-assertion  must  in  the  end  prevail. 

Men  have  everywhere  the  strongest  desire  to  own  the 
land  upon  which  they  labor.  This  desire  has  lain  at  the 
foundation  of  many  a  great  political  revolution.  The 
French  revolution  was  stimulated  by  it.  All  over  Europe, 
with  the  exception  of  Great  Britain,  the  last  half  century 
has  been  witnessing  the  abolition  of  serfdom,  until  it  may 
now  perhaps  be  said  to  be  confined  principally  to  Russia, 
and  even  there  to  be  in  the  process  of  abolition. 

Under  the  feudal  system,  or  as  a  result  of  it,  the  land 
was  possessed  by  a  class  of  nobles  who  held  the  peasants 
on  their  estates  as  serfs.  These  nobles  alone  in  the  greater 
part  of  Germany  could  hold  and  purchase  land  that  was 
free  from  servitude.  The  peasant  holdings,  or  feud  lands, 
w^hich  were  held  under  services,  often  of  a  personal  and 
degrading  kind,  were  the  only  landed  estates  that  a  capi- 
talist, not  of  noble  birth,  could  purchase  or  hold.^ 

The  first  step  towards  giving  freedom  to  the  German 
serf,  was  taken  in  1807,  but  it  was  not  until  1810  that  their 
freedom  was  secured.^  The  object  first  sought  was  to 
secure  to  the  feud-holding  peasantry  the  possession  of  their 
lands,  they  rendering  rent  for  their  use.^  This  served  to 
legalize  their  claim.  The  next  step  was  to  include  the 
serfs  who  lived  on  the  outskirts  of  the  land,  and  who  paid 
for  the  use  of  the  small  patches  they  cultivated  by  their 
daily  labor.  Then  came  the  final  measure,  rendering  them 
absolute  proprietors  of  their  several  holdings  and  patches 
upon  conditions  so  easy  as  almost  to  render  them  free  gifts 
to  all.  This  was  more  especially  the  course  of  things  in 
Prussia,  next  to  Austria,  the  most  leading  of  all  the  Ger- 
man states.  But  most  of  the  other  German  states  soon 
followed  the  example,  and  thus  came  such  a  multitude  of 
small  proprietors  and  little  patch-work  fields  throughout 


*  Peasant  Life  in  Germany,  56.    "  Idem,  55.    "  Idem,  57. 


116 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


117 


all  GerniaDy.^    It  was  not  until  the  year  1821,  that  the 
bondage  of  serfdom  was  completely  removed. 

This  abrogation  of  signorial  rights,  which  had  been 
recognized  for  centuries,  required  tlie  strong  exercise  of 
despotic  power  to  effect,  and  probably  any  power  less  than 
despotic  would  have  failed  to  accomplish.  The  result  was 
to  elevate  the  serf  into  the  proprietor,  without,  however, 
giving  him  political  rights,  while  a  large  body  of  the 
aristocracy,  deprived  of  their  income,  were  reduced  to 
a  very  uncomfortable  situation.  This  has  given  rise  to 
commotion  and  change  among  the  social  elements  of 
Germany. 

A  problem  of  no  inconsiderable  importance  presented 
itself  in  the  inquiry  as  to  what  should  be  done  with  the 
great  numbers  thus  deprived  of  their  subsistence.  It  was 
finally  solved  by  their  employment  as  government  officials, 
and  hence  the  swarms  of  these  dignitaries,  that  are  found 
in  every  German  court.  Their  dependence  is  immediately 
upon  the  king  or  head  of  the  state  from  whom  they  receive 
their  appointment,  and  whose  interests,  therefore,  they  are 
bound  to  subserve.  Their  support  is  wrung  by  heavy 
taxation  from  the  pockets  of  the  people.  The  real  result, 
therefore,  is  in  imparting  strength  to  the  kings,  princes,  and 
courts  by  means  of  these  new  aids,  which  are  identified 
with  them  in  interest,  and  in  transforming  the  rents,  by 
which  they  were  formerly  supported,  into  taxes,  by  which 
they  are  now  enabled  to  live.  The  serf,  it  is  true,  has  be- 
come the  nominal  owner  of  his  laud,  but  his  real  condition 
is  not  80  essentially  changed. 

It  is,  however,  a  singular  fact  that  this  great  change,  from 
serfdom  to  proprietorship,  has  had  scarcely  an  appreciable 
effect  upon  the  social  condition  of  the  Germans.  Such  a 
change  we  should  naturally  expect  would  lead  the  peasantry 
gradually  to  adopt  the  dress,  the  manners,  and  modes  of 
living  of  those  above   them.     It  is  everywhere   else  true 


'  Pe<mint  Life  in  Germ  any,  55. 


that  the  country  imitates  the  town.  But  in  Germany  scarce 
anything  of  this  kind  is  perceptible.  Within  the  walls  of 
the  city  we  encounter  the  dress,  customs,  foibles  and  frivoli- 
ties of  fashionable  life.  Outside  of  those  walls  we  are  in 
the  domain  of  peasant  life;  a  life  that  seems  stereotyped; 
that  in  all  its  material  features  has  remained  the  same  for 
a  thousand  years.  Desolating  wars  have  swept  over  the 
country ;  new  thrones  and  principalities  have  been  erected 
and  overthrown ;  new  dynasties  come  and  gone;  the  life  of 
serfdom  ran  its  course  and  terminated ;  and  yet  essentially 
the  same  social  condition  has  all  along  stamped  the  same 
impress  upon  peasant  life. 

Is  this  for  the  reason  that  this  life  contains  within  itself 
no  principle  of  progress,  no  means  of  improvement,  no 
aspirations  after  higher  styles  of  life  and  enjoyment?  We 
suppose  not.  There  is,  no  doubt,  truth  in  the  fact  that  the 
phlegmatic  character  of  the  German  is  indisposed  to 
change,  and  also  that  the  heavy  weight  of  centuries  ren- 
der it  a  matter  of  difficult  accomplishment.  But  a  stronger 
cause  than  all  these  is  probably  to  be  found  in  the  ceaseless 
and  severe  pressure  from  above.  The  higher  class,  center- 
ing in  the  court,  and  the  more  commonly  culminating  in 
despotism,  presses  with  terrible  severity  upon  all  below. 
The  great  agent  through  which  this  pressure  is  more  espe- 
cially manifested  is  the  severe  taxation  to  which  the  people 
are  subjected.  As  the  court  and  all  that  appertains  to  it, 
the  standing  army,  and  the  army  of  hungry  oflicials,  are 
all  nourished  and  sustained  through  the  taxes  levied  upon 
the  people,  it  must  be  obvious  that  all  that  cannot  be 
effected  without  very  great  oppression.  This,  together 
with  the  harsh  usage,  on  many  occasions  bestowed  by  the 
higher  upon  the  lower  classes,  has  largely  contributed  to 
keep  them  where  they  are,  and  thus  prevent  any  rise  in 
their  condition.  The  bad  state  of  feeling  engendered 
between  the  former  land  holders  and  the  serfs  who  have 
risen  to  the  rights  of  ownership,  has  no  doubt  had  its  share 
in  bringing  about  the  result. 


118 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


The  social  life  of  the  Germans  is  susceptible  of  two  divi- 
sions. The  one  embraces  the  life  spent  at  the  different 
courts,  and  this  presents  nothing  very  peculiar.  The  cus- 
toms of  the  highest  circles,  and  the  manner  of  life  led  by 
those  who  compose  them,  will  be  found  nearly  the  same 
through  the  civilized  world.  In  the  highest  development  of 
that  which  constitutes  the  social  element,  we  find  everywhere 
that  uniformity  that  proclaims  the  unity  of  man  and  the 
identity  of  the  race  to  itself. 

The  fashions  of  the  different  courts  are  taken  principally 
from  Paris ;  but  it  is  observed  that  each  little  court  has  an 
entirely  distinct  costume  in  many  points  peculiar  to  itself. 
This  may,  perhaps,  be  resorted  to  with  the  viewof  giving  it 
prestige  and  importance.  The  same  motive  actuates  dif- 
ferent noble  families  in  England  to  dress  their  servants 
and  attendants  in  livery,  so  that  they  may  be  more  readily 
distinguished. 

One  feature,  however,  marks  in  a  stonger  manner  than 
elsewhere  the  higher  life  of  the  German,  and  that  is  the 
rigid  formality  and  strict  etiquette  that  are  carried  through 
all  their  social  arrangements.  This,  although  chilling  to 
every  warm  and  spontaneous  impulse,  yet  tends  certainly 
to  preserve  an  unvarying  uniformity,  and  to  continue 
unbroken,  from  generation  to  generation,  the  same  manners, 
customs,  and  modes  of  life. 

It  is  when  we  direct  our  inquiries  towards  the  country, 
and  the  peasant  life  of  Germany,  that  we  find  presenting 
many  points  of  interest  The  one  relates  to  guilds  or  trade 
associations.  We  have  already  seen  in  the  element  of  in- 
dustry the  agency  exercised  by  these  guilds  in  the  develop- 
ment of  that  element.  We  now  only  contemplate  them  in 
their  social  aspects. 

One  of  the  rules  of  the  guild  is  that  everyone  after  serv- 
ing his  apprenticeship  at  his  trade  must  travel  for  the  space 
of'three  years  practicing  his  trade,^  and  must  then  produce 


Peasant  Life  in  Germany,  118,  etc. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


119 


a  specimen  of  his  workmanship,  and  this,  together  with  a 
certificate  from  the  master  of  the  guild  as  to  his  capacity 
and  fitness,  may  be  sufficient  to  procure  him  employment. 

There  are  several  kinds  of  guilds,  some  of  which  are 
peculiar  to  cities,  and  some  to  villages.  In  both  they 
essentially  control  the  carrying  on  of  the  trade  and  handi- 
craft to  which  they  belong.  ISTo  one  can  establish  a  busi- 
ness except  under  their  auspices.  When  a  young  man  has 
completed  his  apprenticeship  he  procures  his  certificate  of 
birth,  time  spent  in  service,  the  rules  of  his  guild,  and 
passport  from  the  police,  and  then  starts  off'  on  his  travels. 

In  all  large  towns  there  is  an  inn  for  journeymen  of  each 
particular  handicraft,  which  is  known  by  the  sign  exhibited, 
such  as  a  boot,  watch,  horse-shoe,  barrel  or  any  symbol 
of  a  particular  trade.  To  this  the  journeyman  resorts,  and, 
having  deposited  his  certificate,  goes  forth  in  search  after 
work.  He  calls  at  each  shop  where  his  particular  craft  is 
carried  on,  and  offers  his  services.  When  his  services  are 
wanted  his  credentials  are  examined,  and,  if  satisfactory,  he 
works  out  the  engagement  he  makes,  and  then  shoulders 
his  pack  and  recommences  his  travels. 

Thus,  on  every  high  road,  may  be  seen  these  wandering 
journeymen  traversing  the  whole  country  generally  two  by 
two,  demanding  work  in  every  city  and  village.  When  in 
one  place  they  obtain  and  work  out  an  engagement,  they 
travel  on  to  another. 

It  may  happen  that  no  employment  can  be  found,  and 
to  meet  this  contingency,  some  of  the  guilds  raise  a  fund 
by  the  payment  of  a  small  sum  annually,  which  is  devoted 
to  the  support  of  those  who  cannot  find  employment  while 
seeking  it.  The  employment  is  dependent  entirely  upon 
the  fact  of  belonging  to  a  guild,  and  each  guild  has  its 
rules,  punishing  by  exclusion  those  who  do  not  conform  to 
them. 

As  a  general  thing  the  members  of  each  guild  only  asso- 
ciate with  each  other,  and  their  meetings  of  boisterous 
merriment,  for  drinking,  and  the  song,  or  dance,  are  limited 


120 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


to  tberaselves  and  their  friends,  and  exhibit  a  good  degree 
of  rowdyism. 

The  object  of  these  traveling  journeymen  is  to  acquire 
varied  information,  presuming  that  each  place  can  teach 
something  new ;  but  that  which  originally  was  undoubtedly 
an  excellent  custom,  has,  through  the  lapse  of  centuries, 
completely  annihilated  its  own  benefit,  in  that  all  the  par- 
ticulars of  every  handicraft  have  come  to  be  as  well  known 
in  one  place  as  another.  Such  a  mutual  exchange  has 
been  kept  up  between  the  shops  of  Germany,  that  a  great 
sameness  is  everywhere  observable,  and  "  in  every  house 
from  the  Black  sea  to  the  Baltic,  and  from  the  Volga  to 
the  Rhine,  may  be  seen  the  same  tables,  chairs,  sofas,  the 
same  knives,  plates  and  candlesticks,  the  same  door  han- 
dles, window  fastenings,  flower-pots,  brooms,  brushes, 
mops  and  dishcloths,  all  of  the  same  pattern." 

One  bad  efl:ect  of  this  guild  system  is,  that  the  master 
builder  is  the  only  one  who  can,  by  the  rules  of  the  guild, 
superintend  building.^  He  may  be  old  fashioned,  and 
belong  to  a  past  century,  and  totally  unable  to  give  such 
a  construction  as  will  satisfy  either  taste  or  utility,  and 
yet,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  enterprising  young  men,  he 
must  be  employed  as   long   as   he   is   supported  by  the 

guild. 

Nor  is  this  all.  The  widow  of  a  master  workman  pos- 
sesses the  privilege  of  promoting  another  to  that  desirable 
situation.  She  has  even  the  privilege  of  offering  herself  to 
a  young  man  in  the  factory  or  shop  where  he  has  served  his 
apprenticeship,  and  in  case  of  his  declension,  he  will  be 
dismissed  from  service.  Hence,  it  so  often  occurs  that 
young  men  are  found  married  to  women,  sometimes  twice 
as  old  as  themselves. 

The  beneficial  results  to  agriculture  which  have  flowed 
from  the  elevation  of  the  serf  into  the  proprietor,  are  every- 
where decisively   marked.      Proprietary   rights  are  very 


EUllOPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


121 


limited  in  extent;  expensive  implements  of  husbandry, 
employed  by  large  farmers,  cannot  profitably  be  used  ;  and 
the  free  use  of  the  spade,  the  hoe,  and  the  rake,  give,  in 
many  places,  the  whole  country  the  appearance  of  a  gar- 
den. Much  attention  in  Germany  is  given  to  agriculture 
as  a  science.  It  is  taught  in  the  universities,  and  in  the 
agricultural  schools. 

Besides,  there  are  meetings  of  agricultural  societies,  at 
which  much  information  concerning  different  styles  of 
culture  is  gathered  up,  and  every  possible  inquiry  made 
in  reference  to  every  matter  of  interest  to  agriculture.^ 
All  the  statements  are  carefully  compared  by  a  committee, 
and  advice  given  in  reference  to  changes  and  improve- 
ments. Women  in  all  parts  of  Germany  are  employed  to 
work  in  the  field.  One  thing  that  tends  to  render  this 
necessary,  is  the  great  number  of  men,  who,  from  the 
mistaken  policy  of  Europe,  are  compelled  to  lead  a  soldier 
life. 

A  curious  superstition  prevails  in  Brunswick,  that  one 
called  upon  to  testify  in  a  court  of  justice,  only  thinks 
himself  bound  to  tell  the  truth  when  occupying  a  certain 
position ;  his  left  hand  being  held  down  by  the  side,^  his 
right  in  front  of  the  breast,  with  the  two  forefingers  point- 
ing outward.  They  are  carefully  watched  while  testifying, 
to  see  that  they  do  not  change  their  position,  because,  if 
such  should  be  the  fact,  they  would  feel  themselves  at 
liberty  to  deviate  as  much  as  they  pleased. 

Among  the  peculiar  institutions  of  Germany,  are  the 
fairs  and  markets,  held  for  the  purpose  of  supplying  the 
daily  wants  of  the  people.  They  answer  the  purpose  of 
shops  and  provision  stores  in  other  countries.  There  are 
usually  four  more  important  than  others,  which  corre- 
spond with  the  four  seasons.  Besides  these,  in  each  duchy, 
or  principality,  there  are  the  great  fairs,  held  twice  a 
year,   at  Leipsic,   Brunswick,   and   Frankfort,  to   which 


^Peasant  Life  m  Germany,  119. 


*  Peasant  Life  in  Oennany,  128.    '  Idem,  149. 
VI]  16 


122 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


people  resort  from  all  parts  of  Germany.^  At  these  are 
exhibited  the  manufactures  and  other  industrial  products 
of  the  Germans.  Along  the  squares  and  main  street  are 
erected  little  booths,  and  tables  are  spread,  where  all  man- 
ner of  wares  are  offered  for  sale. 

These  fairs  are  looked  forward  to  with  great  interest, 
because  in  their  train  come  toys,  pictures,  and  various 
amusements.  The  circus  is  present.^  Panoramas,  diora- 
mas are  present.  Year  after  year,  and  century  after  cen- 
tury, the  some  position  is  occupied  by  the  same  shop  or 
exhibition.  Everything  that  is  bought  and  sold  in  the 
whole  country  finds  a  place  here,  and  samples  are  often 
shown,  and  orders  taken  to  be  afterwards  supplied.  A 
custom  has  lately  grown  up  of  employing  runners  to  carry 
around  specimens  for  exhibition,  and  to  take  orders. 

At  these  fairs  the  law  fixes  the  hour  of  sale,  which  is 
ushered  in  by  musicians,  and  this  they  continue  to  do 
during  the  three  weeks  the  fair  is  in  session.^  They  have 
also  agricultural  fairs  as  well  as  those  for  the  exhibition  and 
sale  of  manufactured  articles. 

There  is  much  distinction  of  rank  in  Germany.  The 
first  grade  consists  of  the  clergy.^  The  second  of  the  nobles. 
In  this  there  are  several  varieties  such  as  princes,  counts, 
barons,  knights.  The  third  is  made  up  of  the  burghers 
and  peasantry.  The  nobles  live  isolated  in  their  castles, 
which  are  situated  on  the  peaks  of  mountains,  or  in  the 
depths  of  forests,  or  upon  solitary  plains.  Much  of  their 
subsistence,  and  no  small  share  of  their  pleasures  are  derived 
from  the  chase.  Their  proud  air,  and  measured  haughty 
step,  everywhere  distinguishes  them  from  the  common 
people.^  They  consider  it  debasing  to  follow  an  honest 
occupation,  or  to  wed  an  ignoble  woman. 

In  all  the  great  cities  will  be  found  two  classes  of  citizens : 
the  one  composed   of  the   common  people,   mechanics, 


^Pe€imnt  Life  in  Germany,  151.    ^  Idem,  15S.    'idcw,  159.    *  Idem,  179. 
*  Idem,  179. 


EUROPE —  ITS  SOCIETY. 


123 


manufacturers,  merchants;  the  other  of  the  noble  born, 
generally  younger  sons  of  the  great  families,  following  no 
occupation  publicly,  monopolizing  the  offices,  and  styling 
themselves  patricians. 

In  some  parts  of  Germany,  and  formerly  in  almost  all  parts 
of  it,  is  another  social  condition,  viz  :  that  of  the  serf,  who 
tills  the  earth,  living  in  villages  or  lonely  cottages.  The 
dwelling  is  a  rude  hut,  constructed  of  mud  and  wattles,  and 
thatched  with  straw,  his  garb  a  coarse  gown  and  straw  hat ; 
his  food  black  sour  bread  with  thin  porridge  or  pulse  soup; 
his  drink  water  or  milk ;  his  toil  is  incessant ;  and  his  treat- 
ment often  harsh  and  severe. 

The  Germans  are  full  of  legends  and  superstitions. 
They  believe  in  signs  and  wonders,  ghosts  and  hobgoblins, 
and  almost  every  act  of  their  lives  is  influenced  by  some 
light  or  shadow  which  has  fallen  upon  their  path,  and 
which  they  attribute  to  some  supernatural  being.^  More 
especially  are  the  old  castles  hung  with  legendary  lore, 
and  tradition  faithfully  bears  from  one  generation  to 
another  tales  of  love  and  war,  the  doings  of  the  bold  knight 
and  his  lady  love.  The  superstition  of  the  death-call  pre- 
vails in  Germany  among  the  common  people ;  that  is,  if 
one  heard,  or  imagined  he  heard,  a  voice,  he  was  sure  it 
was  the  angel  of  death  summoning  him  to  judgment.* 

Many  of  the  social  customs  and  habits  of  the  Germans 
flow  from  their  industrial  pursuits.  Among  these  those  of 
the  vintage  are  not  the  least  considerable. 

Many  districts  in  Germany  are  vast  vineyards,  although 
the  vine  seems  somewhat  capricious  in  regard  to  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  its  growth  commences  and 
matures.  It  must  be  a  sunny  slope  or  a  sheltered  valley, 
and  to  these  must  be  added  a  clime  both  uniform  and 
genial.  This  necessity  of  resorting  to  the  sunny  hillside 
and  the  sheltered  vale  results  in  giving  variety  and  pictur- 
esque beauty  to  those  regions  where  the  vine  culture  is 


^Peasant  Life  in  Germany,  189.    "^  Idem,  390. 


124 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


carried  to  the  greatest  perfection.     The  Rhine  Gau,  formed 

bj  a  sudden  change  in  the  direction  of  the  Rhine  by  which 

it  is  made  to  describe  a  semicircle  between  Mayence  and 

Coblentz  has  been  called  the  paradise  of  Germany.     Not 

only  within  its  limits,  but  far  away  in  every  direction,  are 

hills  crowned  with  castles  and  smiling  with  vineyards.^ 

Neither  vineyards  nor  fields  in  Germany  are  surrounded 

with  fences.     Everything  is  open  and  apparently  exposed. 

But  a  more  careful  observation  will  discover  that  as  soon 

as  the  fields  grow  productive,  watchers  are  stationed  by 

government  among  the  hills   and  valleys,  who   exercise 

both  day  and  night  such  a  ceaseless  vigilance,  that  while 

the  harvests  are  ripening,  a  man  may  not  even  enter  his 

own   field  without   permission.^      When    the  harvest   is 

ripe  it  is   the  police  that  fixes  the  day  for  gathering  it. 

This  arrangement  saves  the  expense  of  fences  which  are 

unnecessary  to  protect  against  cattle  as  they  are  kept  all 

safe  in  their  stalls. 

The  vintage  usually  commences  about  the  twelfth  of 
October.  On  the  week  previous  the  police  give  a  formal 
notice,  accompanied  by  the  ringing  of  bells.^  The  evening 
previous  the  bells  are  again  rung,  and  in  the  early  morn- 
ing they  ring  out  a  merrier  peal,  which  is  signalized  by  the 
issuing  forth  of  the  vintagers  in  their  holiday  costume, 
with  basket  in  hand,  and  singing  as  they  go,  to  gather  the 
ripe  grapes.  Thus  the  full  swell  of  song  is  made  to  echo 
among  the  hills  while  their  well  filled  l)askets  are  some- 
times" deposited  in  large  vats  in  the  fields,^  and  in  others 
carried  to  barns  or  granaries  preparatory  to  pressing  in 
mills  very  similar  to  the  process  of  making  cider  from 

apples. 

The  old  and  universal  custom  was  to  tread  the  grapes 
upon  the  spot,  and  this  is  still  the  practice  in  many  of  the 
provinces.  This  is  accomplished  by  placing  the  grapes  in 
a  large  flat  tub,  and  then  setting  men  with  naked  feet  to 


» Pfamnt  Life  in  Germany,  205.    '  Idem,  200.    '  Idem,  215.    *  Ide7n,  217. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


125 


trample  upon  them  until  the  juice  is  all  pressed  out. 
Another  mode,  still,  is  by  pounding  them  in  small  troughs, 
and  then  allowing  the  juice  to  settle  before  pouring  it  into 
tuns,  hogsheads  and  barrels.  When  the  vintage  is  over,  a 
ball  is  celebrated  in  every  village. 

The  grape  cure  is  the  one  grand  remedy  for  all  diseases, 
and  does  sometimes  effect  astonishing  cures.  This  is  the 
mode  by  which  it  is  administered.^  Those  desiring  it 
spend  the  vintage  season  where  they  can  procure  grapes  in 
abundance,  and  eat  many  pounds  a  day,  as  long  as  they 
last.  The  blood,  by  these  means,  is  supposed  to  be  wholly 
renewed  and  purified,  and  thus  a  change  radically  wrought 
in  the  system. 

An  occasion  of  gathering  together  among  the  Germans  is 
also  presented  in  the  apple-bee,  at  which  the  cutting  and 
drying  the  winter  store  of  apples  takes  place.  Here  it  is 
that  the  maiden  consults  the  oracle  of  the  future  by  swing- 
ing three  times  around  her  head  the  long  paring,  and  then 
watching  the  form  into  which  it  falls,  confidently  expecting 
it  to  cut  the  initials  of  her  lover's  name.^ 

Among  the  Erz  mountains  live  the  miners,  the  weavers 
of  linen,  the  makers  of  lace,  and  the  manufacturers  of 
wooden  ware.^  They  are  all  poor,  but  extremely  industrious. 
Three  or  four  families  live  under  one  straw-thatched  roof, 
being  separated  from  each  other  by  chalk  marks  for 
dividing  lines.  The  running  brook,  by  a  simple  machinery 
of  wheels  and  paddles  is  made  to  rock  the  cradle  of 
the  infant,  while  its  unbroken  music  hushes  the  little 
one  to  slumber.  Potatoes  and  salt  are  almost  their  only 
living,  while  the  shuttle  and  the  bobbin,  the  hammer  and 
the  pick-axe  through  all  the  day  preserve  their  unvaried 
monotony  of  sound.  And  yet,  even  here,  the  young  men 
spend  the  long  winter  evening  in  wooing,  and  the  old  in 
telling  of  the  olden  times,  and  Christmas  brings  its  song 
and  conviviality. 


'  Peasant  Life  in  Germany,  219.    '  Idem,  329.    ^  Idem,  373. 


126 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


In  Westphalia  and  Oldenbarg  tliej  have  a  singular 
custom  of  keeping  alive  the  fire  in  tlie  great  family  room.^ 
They  never  permit  it  to  go  out  except  when  the  head  of 
the  household  dies,  and  then  it  must  be  rekindled  by  the 
new  heir.  "  Take  a  place  by  my  fire,"  is  the  phrase  of 
hospitality  to  all  who  come  under  the  roof. 

The  Germans  are  a  people  much  attached  to  festivity. 
One  great  evidence  of  this  is  their  mingling  the  festive 
with  the  useful.  When,  for  instance,  a  village  raising  is 
to  occur,  and  the  roof  is  ready  to  be  placed  on  the  walls,^ 
the  neighbors  are  invited  to  attend,  and  when  the  rafters 
are  joined,  a  man  ascends  to  the  highest  point  with  a  large 
wreath,  with  which  he  crowns  the  rafters  when  united, 
then  makes  a  speech,  and  takes  a  bottle  of  wine  which  he 
hurls  to  the  earth.^  If  it  do  not  break  no  luck  will  come 
to  the  house  or  its  owners.  Afterwards  a  procession  is 
formed,  and  a  feast  and  dance  closes  the  concern. 

During  the  winter,  the  spinning  circle  moves  from 
house  to  house  being  held  twice  or  tliree  times  a  week.* 
Each  maiden  is  accompanied  by  her  lover,  who  carries  her 
wheel,  and  sits  by  her  during  the  evening.  These  circles 
do  not  always  end  as  decorously  as  they  begin. 

The  Thuringians,  uniting  the  qualities  both  of  the  north 
and  the  south,  are  true-hearted,  hospitable,  reflecting  and 
diligent.  It  has  been  said  of  them  that  "  there  is  ever  a 
deep  thought  in  their  heads,  and  ever  a  light  song  upon 
their  lips."  They  are  rich  in  sagas  and  superstitions,  and 
abound  in  festivals. 

The  young  in  Germany  are  greatly  given  to  amuse- 
ments. Almost  everything  begins  and  ends  with  a  dance. 
Even  church  celebrations  offer  no  exceptions.  Every 
Yillaffe  inn  has  its  ball  room,  which  is  the  best  finished 
and  most  pleasant  room  in  the  house.*  The  balls,  espe- 
cially in  the  catholic  portions  of  Germany,  frequently  occur 


^Peasant  Life  in  Germany,  376.    ^ Idem,  312.    ^ Idem,  312.    *  Idem,  313. 
^ Idem,  22%. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


127 


on  Sundays.  They  are  accompanied  with  smoking  and 
drinking,  and  often  last  through  the  entire  night.  These 
two  vices  are  extremely  common  throughout  Germany. 

The  reason  why  balls  and  dances  are  so  immensely 
popular  is  because  that  aflfords  the  best,  and  in  fact  almost 
the  only,  opportunity  to  the  young  of  each  sex  to  become 
acquainted  with  eaeh  other.  In  Germany  the  homes  of 
the  people  are  not  often  the  scenes  of  social  gatherings, 
where  the  young  of  the  sexes  can  become  acquainted  with 
each  other.  The  young  female  spends  her  time  at  home, 
except  on  the  occasion  of  public  balls  and  festivals;  while 
the  young  man  frequents  the  club  room,  where  drinking 
and  smoking  are  indulged  in  often  to  excess.  The  result 
of  this  is  most  unfortunate  upon  the  manners  of  the  people. 
The  men  are  rough  and  harsh,  wanting  in  refinement  and 
politeness,  and  although  not  absolutely  vicious,  yet  are  ill 
fitted  to  become  the  companions  of  refined  and  delicate 
ladies. 

Another  result  of  this  is  that  in  Germany  the  manoeuver- 
ing  tactics  to  spread  and  catch  in  the  matrimonial  net  are 
very  little  practiced.  As  soon  as  the  young  men  are  fairly 
embarked  in  business  for  themselves,  they  are  regularly 
besieged  by  mothers  having  marriageable  daughters,  and 
in  the  end  each  probably  finds  it  for  his  interest  to  take 
one  in  order  to  get  rid  of  all  the  others. 

The  entire  freedom  of  the  ball-room,  and  the  easy  access 
of  both  sexes  to  it,  affords  large  means  of  forming  acquaint- 
ance. A  matron,  it  is  true,  accompanies  each  young  lady, 
but  while  there  she  is  entirely  free  to  dance  and  talk  with 
whoever  she  pleases.^  This  appears  to  be  a  very  general 
custom  among  both  high  and  low. 

There  is  nothing  very  peculiar  in  the  German  betrothal 
and  wedding,  and  ceremonies  observed  are  not  very 
uniform.  A  very  important  church  ceremony  observed  in 
Germany  is  that  of  confirmation.     All  persons  by  law  must 


'  Peasant  Life  in  Germany,  229. 


^  r 


128 


HISTORY  OF  cnVlLlZATlON. 


be  members  of  the  church/  and  somewhere,  between  the 
ages  of  fourteen  and  sixteen,  must  be  contirmed,  and  thus 
received  into  full  communion.  To  this  rite  or  ceremony 
is  attached  vast  importance.  No  one  can  enter  upon  any 
profession  or  business  until  its  performance.  It  is  no  less 
important  to  girls.  With  them  it  is  the  passport  to  young 
ladyhood  and  its  privileges.^  It  entitles  them  to  doff  the 
short  dresses  and  deck  themselves  in  the  long  skirts  of 
woman,  and  to  attend  public  balls  and  dances. 

At  Whitsuntide,  as  in  Englai\d  on  the  first  of  M^y,  the 
May-pole  is  reared  in  the  country,  many  of  them  often 
shooting  up  in  every  village,  dressed  from  top  to  bottom,^ 
and  also  little  arbors  in  front  of  every  door,  called  lovers' 
bowers,  in  which  they  sit  and  sing,  or  dance  and  play.  At 
the  same  time  the  first  thing  that  meets  the  opening  eye 
of  the  maiden  in  the  morning  is  the  wreaths  of  evergreen 
and  flowers  that  are  hung  about  their  doors  and  windows. 

Funerals  in  Germany  are  generally  attended  in  the 
morning,  sometimes  very  early.  In  protestant  Germany 
a  minister  is  seldom  in  attendance.'*  The  pall-bearers  are 
appointed  by  the  state,  but  paid  by  the  family.  They 
are  of  three  different  ranks,  depending  upon  difference  in 
the  amount  of  their  charge.  In  Hamburg,  hired  mourners 
attend,  but  the  expense  attending  upon  these  exhibitions 
has  resulted  in  their  being  limited  to  the  rich.  In  the 
churchyards  during  the  summer  the  monuments  are  hung 
with  wreaths,  and  in  cold  weather  artificial  flowers  often 
supply  the  place  of  the  natural.  In  the  country  burial 
grounds  one  portion  is  allotted  to  the  aged  and  married, 
another  to  the  youth,  and  another,  still,  to  the  children. 

In  the  northern  part  of  Prussia  some  singular  funeral 
customs  prevail  among  the  peasantry.  Immediately  upon 
the  death  of  a  person  the  window  is  opened  to  give  the 
spirit  free  egress,^  and  a  piece  of  money  is  placed  in  the 


*  Peasant  Life  in  Germany,  249.    '  Idem,  351.    '  Idem,  349.    *  Idem,  324. 
'Idem,  376. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


129 


•,^ 


I'  4  * 


mouth  to  furnish  it  with  the  means  of  support  while  on 
its  way  to  the  other  world  or  while  there.^  In  the  coffin 
are  placed  a  bowl  and  spoon,  the  comb  which  belonged  to 
the  deceased,  and  the  hair  last  combed  from  his  head.  The 
body  is  accompanied  to  the  grave  with  songs  in  the  belief 
that  the  more  they  sing  the  happier  will  the  spirit  be  in 
heaven.  Each  relative  deposits  something  in  the  coffin,  a 
piece  of  his  coat,  or  shirt,  or  handkerchief,  and  a  lock  of 
hair,  with  a  flask  of  brandy. 

In  some  districts  of  lower  Austria  and  in  Styria,  espe- 
cially in  those  mountainous  parts  bordering  on  Hungary, 
there  prevails  a  strange  custom,  which  has  grown  into  a 
habit  of  eating  arsenic.  The  peasantry  are  more  especially 
given  to  it,  commencing  with  a  small  quantity  weighing 
less  than  half  a  grain,  which  they  take  while  fasting  several 
mornings  in  the  week  for  a  considerable  time.  Very  care- 
fully and  gradually  they  increase  the  dose  according  to  the 
effect  produced,  until  some  take  at  one  time  a  quantity 
weighing  four  grains.  When  once  entered  upon,  this  cus- 
tom is  generally  kept  up  during  life. 

The  object  is  two-fold,  one  to  obtain  a  fresh,  healthy 
appearance,  to  acquire  a  certain  degree  of  embonpoint. 
The  young  of  each  sex,  by  this  means,  render  themselves 
more  attractive  to  each  other,  for  it  is  the  youthful  poison 
eaters  that  are  the  most  distinguished  by  a  blooming  com- 
plexion, and  an  appearance  of  exuberant  health. 

The  other  object  is  to  make  them  better  winded,  that  is, 
to  render  their  respiration  freer  and  easier  when  ascending 
the  mountains.  They  often  practice  taking  a  small  quan- 
tity when  about  to  ascend  heights,  and  the  effect  it  has 
upon  respiration,  and  the  movements  of  the  chest  is  truly 
surprising. 

Although  some  fall  victims  to  the  practice,  especially 
from  over  doses  at  the  commencement,  yet  in  those  in  whom 
the  habit  is  thoroughly  established  there  is  no  trace  of  an 


*  Peasant  Life  in  Germany,  376. 

VI]  17 


130 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


arsenical  cachexy  discernible,  and  the  symptoms  of  a 
chronic  arsenical  poisoning  never  show  themselves  in  indi- 
viduals who  adapt  the  dose  to  their  constitution.  But 
what  is  very  remarkable  is  that  when,  for  any  reason,  the 
use  is  discontinued  and  the  habit  broken  up,  symptoms 
of  illness  appear  resembling  those  produced  by  poisoning 
from  arsenic,  such  as  difficulty  in  breathing,  a  burning 
pain  from  the  pylorus  to  the  throat,  want  of  appetite,  indif- 
ference to  persons  and  things,  great  personal  anxiety,  and 
various  distressing  sensations,  for  all  which  there  is  but 
one  remedy,  viz :  a  return  to  the  habit. 

Thus  the  commencement  and  continuance  creates  the 
necessity  not  only  of  keeping  up  the  habit,  but  of  taking 
constantly  increasing  doses,  until  the  system  can  endure 
nothing  further,  and  death  occurs  from  a  demand  which  it 
becomes  equally  fatal  either  to  grant  or  refuse. 

6.  Society  as  it  has  developed  or  is  developing  itself  in 
France. 

The  French  people  are  a  mixture  of  the  ancient  Celts, 
Romans  and  Germans,  and  while  they  form  a  connecting 
link  between  the  people  of  the  south  and  those  of  the 
north,  they  will  be  found  in  their  general  traits  of  character 
and  social  habits  to  bear  a  stronger  resemblance  to  the  in- 
habitants of  the  south  of  Europe.  There  are  also  other 
distinct  stocks,  as  the  Bretons  in  the  Amorican  penin- 
sula, the  Basques  and  Gascons  at  the  foot  of  the  Pyrenees, 
and  the  Walloons  near  Belgium,  that  enter  into  and 
modify  French  character. 

Thus,  taken  altogether,  the  French  people  present  much 
variety  in  their  development  of  social  life.  While  the 
inhabitant  of  Brittany  is  distinguished  for  violent  passions, 
and  stubbornness,^  the  people  of  Normandy  are  crafty, 
selfish  and  quarrelsome.  On  the  banks  of  the  Somme,  the 
people  are  plain  in  their  liabits,  and  irritable  in  disposition. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


131 


T 


"-» 


In  northern  France,  Flemish  customs  prevail.  The 
people  are  unsocial,  and  addicted  to  spirituous  liquors. 
On  the  Maine,  and  in  the  region  of  the  upper  Seine,  in 
what  was  formerly  Champagne,  the  manners  of  the  in- 
habitants are  very  plain.  Among  the  mountaineers  of 
Vosges  we  find  a  prevalence  of  German  blood,  and  hence 
a  people  candid,  open-hearted,  hospitable,  and  phlegmatic. 
The  inhabitants  of  the  Jura  are  temperate  and  frugal,  and 
free  from  violent  passions.  In  the  valleys  of  the  Rhone, 
Dordogne,  Garonne  and  Adour,  the  people  are  generally 
of  a  very  lively  temper,  impassioned,  and  fond  of  the 
figurative  style  of  language.  In  Languedoc  these  same 
traits  are  associated  with  refined  and  amiable  manners, 
while  in  Provence  it  is  much  the  reverse  of  this.  In 
Guyenne  and  Gascony  the  inhabitants  have  little  of  frank- 
ness in  their  charact^;  while  among  the  mountains  of 
Auvergne  and  Limousin,  the  people  are  poor  but  good- 
natured  and  candid,  charitable  and  hospitable.  These 
original  diversities  in  disposition  should  have  their  weight 
in  any  estimate  to  be  formed  of  social  life  in  France. 

The  origin  of  these  diversities  is  probably  largely  owing 
to  the  dilFerent  ethnic  races,  or  difierent  types  of  the  human 
race,  that  occupy  the  soil  of  France.  The  name  France, 
is  derived  from  the  Franks,  a  tribe  of  the  Teutonic  type, 
who,  on  the  overthrow  of  the  Roman  power,  established 
themselves  in  that  territory,  and  became  the  dominant 
race.  This  German  element  was  the  most  strongly  preva- 
lent in  the  north  of  France  and  hence  the  reign  of  feudal- 
ism which  it  brought  along  with  it,^  was  there  the  most 
thoroughly  established  and  continued  the  longest  to  exert 
its  influence.  In  Normandy,  another  cognate  race,  of  the 
same  ethnic  type,  the  Normans,  long  subsequently  esta- 
blished themselves,  and  gave  to  that  province  the  same 
dominant  race  that  afterwards  so  strongly  impressed  the 
great  features  of  its  character  upon  English  civilization. 


^Iconographic  Encyclopmdia,  iii,  194. 


^  Jlotz's  Gohineau,  183, 


_,-.u — ^ 


132 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


^ 


But  deeply  underlying  these  German  types  are  tlie 
remains  of  the  old  Allophilian  race,  which  has  already 
been  alluded  to  in  another  connection,  supposed  by  many 
to  be  the  aborigines  of  Europe,  and  found  more  in  the 
southern  than  in  the  central  and  northern  parts  of  France; 
and  intermediate  between  that  and  the  German,  are  the 
first  migrating  or  Celtic  race,  the  remains  of  which  are 
found  in  the  western,  central  and  southern  provinces.  Of 
these  difierent  races,  so  far  as  their  types  have  been  pre- 
served, the  Teutonic  and  Celtic  have  exerted  the  strongest 
influence  in  moulding  the  character  and  guiding  the  destiny 

of  the  French  people- 

The  first  mentioned  of  these  two,  early  became  dominant 
in  the  north  of  France,  while  everywhere  else,  with  the 
exception  of  Normandy,  the  ancient  Gauls,  principally  of 
Celtic  origin,  formed  the  great  bulk  of  the  population. 
This  preponderance  of  the  German  element  guided  the 
policy  of  the  country  until  the  forepart  of  the  fifteenth 
century,  when  the  threatened  annihilation  of  the  French 
monarchy,  under  the  English  invasion,  aroused  the  popula- 
tion of  the  central  provinces,  who,  rallying  around  Charles 
yil,  drove  back  the  English  invaders,  restored  the  French 
nationality,  and  infused  into  it  that  taste  for  military  life, 
glory  and  conquest  which  are  more  Celtic  than  Teutonic, 
and  which  have  ever  since  very  strongly  prevailed. 

Another  change  occurred  towards  the  close  of  the  six- 
teenth century  when  the  Bourbon  dynasty  in  the  person  of 
Henry  IV,  from  tlie  south,  with  his  Aquitanian  followers, 
not  only  brought  with  it  a  still  stronger  desire  for  military 
achievement,  but  also  that  centralization  of  power,  which 
was  derived  from  Rome,  and  was  most  favorable  for  success. 
This  ascendancy  of  the  southern  populations,  accompanied 
by  the  military 'spirit  and  tlie  centralization  of  power,  was 
one  of  the  principal  agencies  tliat  gave  to  Paris  in  modern 
times  such  a  miglity  preponderance,^  rendering  it  really  the 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


133 


IH^Hr   "^P' 


'1*'^ 


I 


sovereign  of  tlie  state.  This  great  capital  contains  a  popu- 
lation which  is  a  motley  compound  of  all  the  most  varied 
ethnical  elements.  The  expression  so  common  that  "  Paris 
is  France,"  refers  to  its  scientific,  social,  and  political 
domination,  and  not  to  its  occupying  a  representative  cha- 
racter. 

There  are  classes  in  other  large  cities  that  enable  them 
to  resemble  Paris,  but  between  the  capital  and  the  country 
there  is  hardly  a  single  point  of  resemblance.  It  has  long 
since  been  observed  that  "•  Paris  is  f^eparated  from  the  rest 
of  France  by  a  line  of  demarkation  so  decided  and  accu- 
rately defined,^  that  at  the  very  gates  of  the  capital,  a 
nation  is  found,  utterly  difierent  from  that  within  the  walls. 
Althoui^h  much  is  said  about  the  French  character  as  if  it 
were  homogeneous,  yet  there  is  really  very  little  similarity 
of  thoughts,  of  views,  of  feelings,  or  of  aught  that  goes  to 
make  up  a  nationality.^  It  has  been  boldly  asserted  by  an 
enlightened  Frenchman  that  there  is  not  one  principle  that 
governs  society  and  is  connected  with  French  civilization, 
which  is  understood  in  the  same  manner  in  all  the  depart- 
ments. No  reference  is  here  had  to  the  peculiarities  that 
characterize  the  native  of  ISTormandy,  of  Brittany,  Angevin, 
Limousin,  Gascony  and  Provence,  in  each  one  of  which 
the  population  differs  from  all  the  others  in  its  tendencies, 
modes  of  thinking,  and  even  physical  appearance.  But  it 
is  the  difierent  rural  populations  of  France,  the  great  body 
of  the  peasantry,  among  whom  the  very  rudiments  of 
knowledge  remain  an  impenetrable  mysterj^  very  few  of 
them  being  acquainted  with  reading  and  writing.  This  is 
not  owing  to  the  want  of  educational  means.^  The  smallest 
village  afibrds  ample  opportunities  for  common  education. 
It  arises  from  a  reluctance  to  acquire  knowledge.  Even 
beyond  this,  it  has  been  traced  to  a  feeling  of  positive 
hostility  to  French  civilization.  Although  some  are  legally 
compelled  to  submit  to  an  elementary  education,  yet  they 


tHotz'sGofnnnfif,  184. 


'  Uotzs  GoUnemi,  393.     -  Idem,  392.     ^  Mem,  393. 


f 


134 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


135 


return  forever  to  the  local  patois  of  their  birth  place  which 
ID  many  cases  bears  but  iittle  resemblance  to  the  French 
language/  sometimes,  as  in  Landes,  differing  even  in  the 
roots  of  which  it  is  composed. 

Among  these  peasant  populations  the  greatest  taci- 
turnity and  reserve  prevails.^  Between  them  and  the 
bourgeoise,  as  they  are  termed,  or  the  landed  proprietors, 
there  is  but  little  communication  and  less  sympathy.  In 
their  isolation  from  the  civilization  of  the  age,  they  do  not 
appear  actuated  by  a  feeling  of  degradation.  Their  affec- 
tions and  antipathies  do  not  arise  from  mere  accidental 
circumstances,  but  are  based  upon  clearly  conceived  and 
well  defined  ideas.  These  populations  are  found  more 
prevalent  in  central  and  southern  France  where  the  Teu- 
tonic element  has  no  existence  or  is  possessed  of  little 
strength.  They  regard  themselves  as  a  distinct  race,  a 
race  that  is  weak  and  depressed,  a  race,^  therefore,  that 
can  accomplish  nothing  by  force,  and  whose  only  resort 
is  to  cunning  and  stratagem.  They  do  not  constitute  a 
class  but  a  caste,  as  strongly  marked  almost  as  those  of 
ancient  Egypt  or  modern  India. 

Among  these  populations  may  still  be  found  the  local 
costumes  of  the  middle  ages.  Their  manners,  customs  and 
modes  of  thiuking  are  peculiar  to  themselves.  It  is 
among  them  that  the  clergy  are  compelled  to  battle  with 
mysterious  superstitions,  or  hereditary  tendencies,  all  the 
more  formidable  because  they  are  seldom  openly  avowed, 
but  are  cherished  in  silence  and  solitude.^  There  are  still 
parishes  in  France  where  the  superstitions  of  heathenism 
still  prevail^  In  catholic  Brittany  even  in  the  last  centu- 
ries, the  bishop  in  vain  attempted  to  withdraw  his  flock 
from  the  worship  of  an  idol  of  stone.  The  rude  image  was 
thrown  into  the  water,  but  rescued  by  its  obstinate  adorers, 
and  even  the  assistance  of  the  military  was  rendered  neces- 
sary to  break  it  in  pieces. 


A 


) 


These  populations,  fortunately,  are  neither  wicked  nor 
ill  disposed.^  Among  themselves  they  are  kind-hearted, 
charitable  and  obliging.  They  stand  in  mysterious  terror 
of  the  laws,  have  no  part  in  their  making,  and  hate  and 
distrust  all  tliosc  al)Ove  themselves.  There  are  among 
them  wealthy  people,  and,  in  general,  they  are  not  as  poor 
as  the  lower  classes  in  cities.  Sunk  in  apathetic  indiffer- 
ence they  take  no  interest  in  the  political  movements  of 
the  country.  With  the  single  exception  of  the  peasant 
war  of  La  Vendee,  the  French  peasantry  have  taken  no  in- 
terest whatever  in  the  revolutions  through  which  France 
has  passed  within  the  last  century.  Whether  Bourbon, 
Orleanist,  or  republic  is  triumphant,  is  to  them  a  matter  of 
indifference.^  There  were  rural  districts  in  which  the  pea- 
sants did  not  hear  of  the  expulsion  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty 
until  years  afterwards. 

It  is  obvious,  that  this  lower  stratum  of  population  in 
France  can  exert  little,  if  any,  influence  upon  social  life  or 
the  progress  of  civilization.  It  has  been  computed  that  of 
the  thirty-six  millions  in  France  only  ten  participate  in  the 
ideas  and  mode  of  thinking  upon  which  French  civilization 
is  based,^  while  the  remaining  twenty-six  altogether  ignore 
them,  being  indifferent  and  even  hostile  to  them. 

There  is  a  kind  of  population  above  the  peasantry,  who 
may  be  better  designated  as  a  class  than  a  caste.  This  also 
consists  of  laborers,  but  they  are  those  employed  in  the 
manufactories,*  and  in  the  large  cities.  These  are  easily 
induced  to  learn  to  read  and  write.  They  generally  acquire 
the  rudiments  of  knowledge,  but  the  culture  bestowed  upon 
them  is  intellectual,  not  moral.  While  their  moral  nature 
is  suffered  to  run  to  waste,  they  come  up  with  clear  intel- 
lectual perceptions  of  their  own  social  degradation,  and  of 
the  many  enjoyments  of  every  description  of  those  above 
them.  To  them,  therefore,  life  offers  little  except  in  the 
line  of  revolution.     They  readily  imbibe  ideas  and  senti- 


'JI>*tfs(JMi>,'n(,2d-i.   '' f<Um,2dl.    ^ }dem,^00.    * Idem,2n.  "mm,!^!. 


'  Hotz's  GoMneau,  300.    » Idem,  302.    « Idem,  303.    *  Idem,  295. 


EUKOPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


137 


136 


mSTOUV  OF  tlVll-l/.ATlON. 


lueuts  subversive  of  all  social  order     Toward  the  c.vmW 
tion  which  they  ca.i  comi-rchend  and  appreciate,  hut  n.%  ei 
hope  to  enjoy,  they  entertain  -\»"->"7>;-";f  j^f  ^^  f^ 
It  is  among  these  that  the  projectors  of  the  vvildest  and 
1st  incendiary  schemes,  readily  recruit  the:r  partisans 
It  is  here  that  socialism  is  nourished;  tha  teomrnu.nty  of 
eoods  and  wives  becomes  a  cherished  dream  of  the  fancy  ; 
fndthat  all  the  ills  and  abuses  that  afflict  the  social  system 
find  an  all  powerful  remedy  in  the   destruction   of  that 
Sstem.     To\he8e  men  life  offers  little  of  enjoyment  under 
the  present  constitution  of  things,  aud  hence  they  care  little 
for  its  continuance.     They  arc  ever  ready  to  n.k  it^  o.s 
for  the  realization  of  what  a  change  may  bring.     Ihci 
employment,  not  isolated  like  that  of  the  peasantry,  brings 
Lm  much  together,  and  enables  them  to  compare  idea 
a^idarrange  their  plans.     These  are  the  men  of  blouses 
and  of  barricades,  who  are  ever  ready  to  welcome  a  revo- 
lution because  it  brings  a  change,  and  who  expect  to  find 
amidst  the  wild  conflict  of  political  forces  the  long  sought 
panacea  for  all  social  evils. 

There  are,  however,  portions  of  country  to  which  this 
picture  has  no  application.  Among  the  agricultural  and 
manufacturing  populations  of  the  north  and  north-east, 
information  is  readily  received,  is  very  genera  and  pro- 
ductive of  good  fruits.'  These  people  are  intelligent  and 
orderly  They  are  the  descendants  of  the  Franks,  the  old 
Teutonic  stock,  to  which  civilization,  all  the  world  over,  is 
so  very  largely  indebted. 

It  has  been  estimated  that  two-thirds  of  the  entire  popu- 
lation of  France  are  actually  engaged,  or  interested  as  land- 
lords and  proprietors,  in  the  pursuits  of  agriculture. 
While  in  England  the  laud  is  all  owned  by  a  comparatively 
few  landed  proprietors,  constituting  what  is  termed  the 
landed  aristocracy,  in  France  a  very  ditierent  policy  has 
prevailed,  and  the  subdivision  of  landed  property  has  been 

'  Jlotz's  GMmau,  296. 


\ 


i{ 


i 


carried  to  a  very  great  extent  under  the  encouragement  of 
positive  enactment,  as  well  as  the  influence  of  traditional 
habits.^  There  are  fields  there  measuring  one  and  a 
half  yards  by  two,  and  instances  of  a  farmer  owning  and 
cilltivating  a  single  furrow,  and  that  not  a  long  one.  It  is 
estimated  that  there  are  about  a  million  and  a  quarter  of 
land  proprietors  in  France,^  and  that  none  of  them  hold 
more  than  fivQ  acres  of  land.  This  great  subdivision  of 
landed  property  exerts  an  unfavorable  influence  upon  agri- 
culture, as  it  fails  to  furnish  either  the  land  or  the  capital 
necessary  to  an  enlarged  and  extended  system  of  agricul- 
tural operations. 

Another  class,  order,  or  what  came  very  near  being  a 
caste,  was  the  old  French  noblesse.  These  began  to  be 
hereditary  upon  the  downfall  of  the  Carlovingian  dynasty. 
We  have  before  referred  to  them  politically  m  connection 
with  the  governmental  element.  Their  social  standing 
depended  much  upon  their  antiquity  of  origin.  !N"obility 
of  four  hundred  years  duration  was  requisite  for  a  present- 
ation at  court.  Among  them,  wealth  was  but  little  re- 
garded. It  was  blood,  pure  noble  blood,  that  had  coursed 
through  the  veins  of  their  progenitors  for  centuries,  that 
gave  them  all  their  consequence.  They  were  many  of 
them  poor,  and  supported  by  little  offices  within  the  gift 
of  the  court.  But  their  poverty  detracted  nothing  from 
the  respect  with  which  they  were  treated. 

The  noblesse  never  would  marry  out  of  their  own  ranks. 
In  this  respect  they  are  unlike  the  English,  who  often 
recruit  their  blood  and  replenish  their  exhausted  estates, 
by  intermarriages  with  the  daughters  of  energetic,  enter- 
prising and  wealthy  commoners.  But  this,  with  the  old 
French  noblesse,  would  be  regarded  with  holy  horror. 

The  French  revolution  waged  a  war  of  extermination 
against  the  whole  order  of  the  nobles.  They  were  de- 
prived of  their  oppressive  privileges,  and  exclusive  rights, 


*  Tramactiam  of  Agricultural  Society,  1853,  p.  35.    ^Idem,  29. 
VI]  18 


138 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


139 


by  the  decree  of  August  4,  1789.  And  by  that  of  Junel9, 
1790,  all  hereditary  rank  was  abolished.  Under  the 
detested  name  of  aristocrat,  hundreds  were  sent  to^  the 
guillotine.  Of  the  one  thousand  eight  hundred  and  thirty- 
three  victims  who  perished  by  that  instrument,  between 
August,  1792,  and  the  same  month  in  1794,  it  has  been 
ascertained  that  one  thousand  and  eighty-four  were  of 
the  highest  nobility  of  France,  being  princes,  dukes,  mar- 
shals, generals,  and  other  officers  ;2  six  hundred  and 
thirty-six  were  of  the  gentry,  being  members  of  parlia- 
ment, judges,  etc. ;  while  one  hundred  and  thirteen  were 
of  the  bourgeoise,  including  noncommissioned  officers  and 
soldiers.  So  fierce  and  exterminating  was  the  warfare 
waged,  that  very  few  escaped,  except  those  who  sought 

safety  in  exile. 

Under  Napoleon,  in  1806  and  1808,  a  new  nobility  were 
created,  but  upon  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons  the  old 
noblesse  were  reinstated. 

In  France  there  are,  at  the  present,  three  kinds  of  nobility. 
1.  The  legitimists,  the  old  noblesse,  or  the  old  aristocracy 
of  the  Bourbon  stock.  This  finds  its  culminating  head  in 
the  person  of  Henry  V,  Due  de  Bordeaux,  now  an  exile  in 
Italy.  2.  The  Orleans  nobility,  the  family  of  the  late 
Louis  Philippe,  represented  in  the  person  of  the  young 
Count  de  Paris.  3.  The  Napoleonic  nobility,  that  of  the 
empire,  based  originally  upon  military  genius,  and  finding 
its  head  in  the  present  emperor.  Napoleon  III. 

The  old  noblesse  of  the  present  day  present  both  politi- 
cally and  socially  the  fossilized  relics  of  a  former  period. 
Before  the  revolution  they  basked  in  the  sunshine  of 
royalty,  and  to  them  the  cumbersome  etiquette  of  Versailles 
was  their  only  living  faith.  Regarding  with  lofty  con- 
tempt all  the  aspirations  and  efforts  of  industry,  they 
welcome  poverty  without  any  feeling  of  disgrace,  and 
submit  cheerfully  to  its  privations  while  looking  back  to 


I 


^Oobineau,  by  Eoltz,  note,  162. 


an  ancestry  presenting  names  rendered  illustrious  by  the 
events  of  French  history.  Their  salons  may  be  in  a  gar- 
ret, but  the  airs  of  nobility  will  still  flourish  around  them. 
The  great  tidal  movements  of  life  around  them,  its  ebb 
and  flow,  its  convulsive  upheavings  and  its  calmer  courses, 
they  regard  with  listless  eye  where  their  own  safety  is  not 
emperiled.  Their  society  is  confined  to  themselves,  and 
thus  they  are  enabled  to  cherish  the  memories  of  past  gene- 
rations. They  are  in  fact  relics  of  the  past,  having  very 
little  to  do  with  the  present  and  still  less  with  the  future. 
Their  moral  power  and  intellectual  energy  died  out  under 
the  reign  of  the  Bourbons.  The  manners  and  customs  of 
a  court,  especially  of  a  Bourl)on  court,  were  illy  adapted 
to  the  preservation  of  either.  While  embellishments  of 
person  and  light  accomplishments  were  regarded  as  afford- 
ing the  most  etfectual  passports  to  court  favor,  all  the 
higher  graces  of  mind  and  morals  were  accounted  as 
nothing,  and  the  latter  as  fatal  incumbrances.  It  was  the 
power  of  fascinating,  the  graces  of  person  and  of  manner, 
the  easy  virtue  of  the  females,  the  refined  gallantry  of  the 
males,  the  apparent  abandon,  and  the  thousand  little 
attentions  and  graceful  activities  that  made  up  society, 
that  secured  tlie  commendations  of  the  old  noblesse.  It 
was  from  this  cause  that  the  court  of  the  Bourbon  kings 
was  altogether  the  most  corrupt  and  corrupting  that  ever 
existed  on  earth.  There  is  probably  no  period  in  the 
annals  of  history  that  can  equal  the  reign  of  Louis  XV  in 
acts  showing  an  utter  disregard  of  principle,  an  abandon- 
ment even  of  the  virtue  of  modesty,  a  shameless  surrender 
to  prostitution,  and  a  virtual  denial  of  God,  and  even  of  a 
moral  element  in  man.  The  orgies,  and  bacchanalian 
revels,  and  strange  acts  and  things  to  which  society  gave 
itself  up  during  this  and  the  preceding  and  subsequent 
reigns,  together  with  the  iron  oppression  which  was  neces- 
sary in  order  to  wring  from  the  people  the  expensive  means 
by  which  these  depths  of  infamy  could  be  attained,  at 
length  maddened  the  people  to  that  degree  that  the  whirl- 


140 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


141 


^f 


wind  of  the  revolution  swept  away  with  terrible  energy 
the  decayed  and  worn  out  relics  of  a  social  system,  which 
in  its  conscious  debasement  had  lost  the  respect  even  of 
itself.  Madame  de  Crequy,  one  of  the  finest  and  purest 
samples  of  the  ancient  aristocracy,  whose  long  life  con- 
nected together  the  empires  of  Louis  XIV,  and  Napoleon 
I,  by  both  of  whom  her  hands  were  respectfully  kissed,  by 
the  former  when  she  was  eleven  years  of  age  and  by  the  lat- 
ter in  her  ninety-eighth  year,  testifies  in  her  memoirs, 
that  the  order  of  nobles  perished  by  its  own  inherent  vices. 
She  says  Bonaparte  wished  to  call  about  him  the  high 
nobility,  who  never  would  have  been  of  any  service  to 
him.^  '"The  greater  part  of  the  great  lords  had  been  edu- 
cated without  piety,  and  had  commenced  to  live  too  young. 
Incapable  of  exercising  the  authority  of  rank,  they  were 
of  races  enervated  by  luxury,  weakened  in  intelligence, 
and  spoiled  by  domination."  It  is  thus  clear  from  its  own 
confession  that  the  old  French  noblesse  had  reached  that 
point  where  their  existence,  except  as  a  mere  fossil,  must 
necessarily  cease,  and  it  accordingly  did  so. 

And  what  efifect  had  the  revolution  and  the  reign  of  terror 
upon  French  society  ?  Probably,  ultimately,  but  very  little. 
It  arrested,  for  a  time,  by  violence,  all  its  ordinary,  normal 
movements.  It  swept  away,  temporarily,  the  throne,  the 
clergy,  and  the  order  of  noblesse.  It  rendered  ever  after, 
unless  the  Bourbon  dynasty  should  be  permanently  restored, 
that  order  fossiliferous,  a  mere  form  without  a  living  in- 
herent energy.  But  outside  of  courtly  and  noble  life, 
and  priestly  ministrations,  it  disturbed  very  little  the  exist- 
ing order  of  things.  It  never  seemed  to  affect  the  national 
gayety.  Amid  all  the  scenes  of  revolutionary  carnage, 
Paris,  to  all  appearance,  continued  to  be  one  of  the  happiest 
cities  in  the  world.  While  the  terrible  notes  of  the  Marsel- 
laise  were  hymned  forth  from  its  streets  by  the  Girondists 
while  going  to  execution,  only  become  fainter  and  feebler 


■t 


-\ 


i 


^Parisian  Sights  ami  French  Pnnciples/Zd  nerjes,  26. 


as  one  head  after  another  fell  beneath  the  axe,  while  the 
screams  of  massacre  appallingly  resounded  in  some  parts 
of  the  city ;  in  others,  actors  and  mountebanks  were  per- 
forming to  crowded  theatres,  eliciting  the  most  clamorous 
applause,  and  exhibiting  nothing  but  the  most  unbounded 
enjoyment.  The  tale  of  the  revolution  has  not  been  with- 
out its  moral  in  all  places  of  the  civilized  world,  except  in 
the  cities  and  among  the  people,  where  its  terrible  scenes 
were  enacted. 

It  may  very  well  be  asked  whether  in  view  of  the  differ- 
ent races  of  men,  or  rather  of  the  different  types  of  the 
same  race,  that  have  for  centuries  occupied  the  French 
soil,  there  is  sucli  a  thing  as  French  character,  French 
social  life,  or  French  manners  and  customs  ?  To  this  ques- 
tion, I  suppose  the  answer  should  be  that  each  type  really 
develops  its  own  social  life  through  the  instrumentality  of 
those  manners  and  customs  which  are  in  harmony  with  it, 
and  which,  altogether,  give  the  appropriate  charactertoeach; 
and  that  thus  the  complete  knowledge  of  social  life  upon 
the  French  soil  could  only  be  gathered  from  a  careful  inves- 
tigation of  each  one  of  these  types.  Each,  no  doubt,  pos- 
sesses and  displays  its  own  peculiarities,  and  along  with 
these  there  are  probably  modified  results,  which  combine 
and  present  an  amalgam  of  two  or  more.  But  this  would 
present  a  task  which  few,  if  any,  would  be  willing  to  enter 
upon.  .  Besides,  the  materials  are  scant  for  such  an  under- 
taking. 

How  is  it  then  that  we  hear  so  much  of  French  charac- 
ter, and  of  the  ease  and  facility  of  learning,  understanding, 
and  estimating  its  relative  value  ?  It  is  because  what  is 
known  as  French  character,  and  French  social  life,  that 
which  meets  our  view  in  Paris  ;  the  queen  city  that,  from 
the  banks  of  the  Seine,  dispenses  fashion  to  the  civilized 
world.  It  is  from  this  cause,  and  also  from  the  revolutions 
which  have  there  originated,  that  we  have  the  expression 
so  often  reiterated  that  "Paris  is  France."  There  is,  no 
doubt,  but  the  other  great  cities  of  France,  or  the  most  of 


i 

! 


abmm. 


wr 

I 


142 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


143 


/ 


It     r 


II 


them,  exhibit  manners,  customs  and  social  habits  much  the 
same  as  in  the  great  capital;  but  of  course  the  lite  that 
abounds  in  the  rural  districts,  must  be  quite  different. 

The  French  character  as  thus  developed,  has  been  dif- 
ferently described  and  estimated  as  different  phases  of  it 
have  been  brought  under  special  review.  The  following 
sketch  of  the  Frencli  national  character,  taken  from  the 
Edinburgh  Enei/dojmdia  will  be  found  to  hit  ofl^  very  briefly 
many  points  of  great  interest.  *'  An  excessive  mobility  and 
a  perpetual  restless  activity,  produced  by  an  exuberance  of 
animal  spirits,  form  tlie  essential  ingredients  of  French 
character.  They  are  quick,  ingenious,  fertile  in  expedients 
buoyant  against  difliculty  or  adversity;  but  mutal)le,  tri- 
fling, confident,  vain,  credulous,  and  incapable  of  modera- 
tion. With  much  that  renders  them  amiable  in  society, 
as  readiness  to  oblige,  delicate  attentions,  kind  sympathy, 
and  lively  sensibility,  they  are  often  of  insecure  commerce 
from  laxity  of  principle,  unmeaning  professions,  jealous 
irritability,  and  a  strong  propensity  for  intrigue.  Their 
feelings  of  every  kind  verge  to  excess;  and  there  is  no- 
thing materially  good  or  bad  of  wliich  they  are  not  capable 
under  the  influence  of  their  impetuous  ardor.  The  French 
are,  beyond  all  example,  the  creatures  of  society.  By  it 
their  manners  and  sentiments  are  fashioned,  and  in  it  are 
centered  their  chief  pleasures  and  gratifications.  They 
would  excel  all  other  nations  in  the  art  of  conversation, 
were  not  the  desire  of  shining  too  universal.  The  love  of 
glory  operates  upon  tliem  with  extraordinary  force,  and 
stimulates  them  to  great  exertions;  but  it  is  often  attended 
with  empty  ostentation  and  gasconade." 

These  are  the  salient  points  of  the  French  character, 
those  lying  at  the  foundation  of  the  social  workings  of  the 
French  people.  The  two  men  who,  of  all  others,  the  most 
perfectly  comprehended  the  real  nature,  inner  composition 
and  outward  working  of  this  character  were  Louis  XIY, 
and  Napoleon  I.  The  first  arrived  at  it  instinctively,  the 
second  by  observation  and  study.     Probably  no  two  sove- 


i' 


i 


reigns  ever  so  grievously  oppressed  the  French  people  either 
by  a  system  of  arbitrary  taxation  that  extracted  from  their 
pockets  often  the  last  dollar  to  enable  them  to  carry  on  a 
reckless  but  splendid  expenditure,  or  by  a  cruel  conscrip- 
tion that  consigned  their  young  men  to  be  butchered  upon 
foreign  battle-fields.     And  yet  no  two  names  ever  acquired 
such  wide,  deep,  and  lasting  popularity.     Every  French- 
man felt  a  lively  interest  in  everything  pertaining  to  the 
grand  monarch,  and  all  his  expensive  but  splendid  struct- 
ures, and  the  great  wars  he  carried  on  were  only  the  means 
of  linking  him  still  more  effectually  to  the  very  hearts  of 
the  French   people.     This  experieuce  was  not  lost  upon 
Napoleon.     In  his  reign,  and  the  acts  by  which  it  was 
marked,  w^e  perceive  a  mirror  reflecting  with  great  fidelity 
the  outlines  of  French  character.     He  was  always  in  mo- 
tion.    At  the  head  of  armies,  on  the  boulevards,  saunterino- 
in  the  Louvre,  he  was  the  same  ever  restless,  ever  moving 
body,  striking  where  least  expected,  and  astonishing  by 
the  rapidity  of  his  combinations,  the  celerity  of  his  move- 
ments, and  the  success  that  waited  on  the  development  of 
his  plans.    His  brilliant  victories  and  splendid  achievements ; 
no  matter  at  what  an  expenditure  of  blood  and  treasure 
they  were  secured,  only  served  to  enshrine  him  in  the 
national  heart.     He   made  himself  an  embodiment,  the 
representative  man  of  France.     While  absent  on  his  Egypt- 
ian expedition,  the  people  of  Paris  became  restive,  and  a 
letter  informed  him  that  the  people  were  on  the  eve  of  an 
outbreak,  a   new   revolution.     He   wrote  back   simply  a 
direction  to  "  gild  the  dome  of  the  Invalids."     It  was  done 
immediately,  and  all  Paris  in  the  talk  about  the  new  gilded 
dome,  in  its  criticisms  and  speculations  concerning  it,  forgot 
all  about  outbreak  and  revolution.     He  knew  that  all  that 
was  necessary  to  turn  the  popular  mind  from  blood  and 
barricades  was  to   occupy  it   with    something  novel   and 
brilliant. 

Any  one  viewing  the  development  of  the  social  element 
in  France  will  be  probably  the  most  struck  with  the  pecu- 


141 


IlISTOKY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


t 
f 


4 

I 


f 


Mar  position  which  woman  has  occupied,  and  the  power 
and  influence  she  has  exercised  in  hoth  the  private  and 
public  aftairs  of  the  French  government.  The  age  of 
chivalry  strongly  impressed  itself  upon  the  vivid  concep- 
tions of  the  French  people.  When  it  passed  away  it 
bequeathed  to  them  the  legacy  of  ideas  which  it  had  been 
its  mission  to  develop.  Those  consisted  in  great  part  of 
the  gallantry,  respect,  and  even  adoration  which  were  paid 
to  women. 

The  reisrn  of  Francis  L  near  the  commencement  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  was  signalized  by  the  introduction  into 
the  French  court  of  the  ideas  of  chivalry  so  far  as  related 
to  the  treatment  of  women.  His  admiration  and  devotion 
to  the  sex  continued  through  life,  and  he  liad  many  mis- 
tresses who,  more  or  less,  influenced  his  conduct.  His  doc- 
trine was  that  "  a  court  without  women  is  a  spring  without 
flowers,"  and,  filling  his  palaces  with  courtiers  and  ladies, 
he  encouraged  an  easy  intercourse  between  them.  This 
was  soon  found  to  produce  very  diflferent  consequences 
from  chivalry  which  sent  its  knight  abroad  in  pursuit  of 
adventures  while  his  lady-love  remained  at  home  but  so 
far  isolated  from  society,  especially  of  the  other  sex,  as  to 
remain  free  from  its  corruptions.  But  when  brought 
within  the  seductive  influences  of  a  court,  where  every 
species  of  allurement  was  practiced,  and  all  that  the  most 
enervating  luxury  could  do  was  superadded,  it  is  not  cer- 
tainly surprising  that  every  moral  bond  should  be  weak- 
ened or  destroyed,  and  all  the  vices  become  alarmingly 
prevalent. 

The  whole  system  of  French  society  took  its  hue  and  co- 
loring from  the  mould  into  which  it  was  cast  at  this  period, 
and  the  ideas  which  then  came  to  prevail.  That  which 
seemed  to  shut  out  all  hope  of  improvement,  was  that  the 
most  debasing  immoralities  were  embellished  with  the  high- 
est style  of  elegance;  that  every  kind  of  thing  was  tolerated, 
provided  it  was  done  with  grace  and  courtliness.  Gallants 
aftected  the  most  generous  homage,  in  imitation  of  the 


V 


i 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


145 


age  of  chivalry,  when  the  motive  was  purely  selfish.  A 
certain  raysteriousness  was  invoked  where  all  was  plain, 
and  certain  things  whispered  about  as  secrets,  which  all 
the  world  knew.  The  court  became  the  hot-bed  of  in- 
trigues of  every  kind,  and  to  these,  the  female  mind  proved 
about  as  fully  competent  as  the  male.  Into  these  intrigues, 
all  more  or  less  entered,  and  they  were  about  equally 
important  and  absorbing,  whether  they  related  to  a  na- 
tional war,  or  the  securing  of  a  mistress  to  the  monarch. 
The  latter  was  certainly  an  affair  of  no  small  moment,  as 
it  amounted  to  surrendering  him  up  for  the  time,  to  the 
influences  which  the  new  comer  had  it  in  her  power  to 
exert.  It  might  effect  as  great  a  revolution  in  the  adminis- 
tration of  the  government,  as  a  change  of  vote  in  the  Eng- 
lish parliament  on  the  fate  of  the  ministry. 

The  social  system,  thus  inaugurated,  continued  through 
the  religious  wars,  the  wars  of  the  Guises,  of  the  League, 
the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  and  the  secret  poison- 
ings of  the  period  of  Brinvilliers  and  La  Yoisin.  Through 
all  this  period,  the  influence  and  intrigues  of  women  had 
their  full  share  in  bringing  about  those  fearful  calamities. 
On  the  accession  of  the  house  of  Bourbon,  towards  the 
close  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  during  the  reign  of 
the  great  Henry  the  IV,  the  women  reigned  with  almost 
unbounded  sway,  at  court.  So  far  as  related  to  balls, 
entertainments,  hunting  parties,  and  other  diversions,  their 
wishes  entirely  controlled.  But  they  never  could  succeed 
in  prevailing  upon  him  to  discard  his  great  minister.  Sully, 
and  although  his  mistress,  the  fair  Gabrielle,  was  admitted 
to  the  deliberations  on  affairs  of  state,  yet  her,  and  their 
influence  over  the  cabinet  and  state  councils,  was  not  per- 
mitted to  be  controlling. 

The  reign  of  his  successor,  Louis  XIH,  or  more  properly 
of  his  minister,  Cardinal  Richelieu,  was  very  free  from  the 
interference  of  women  in  the  affliirs  of  state.  The  mon- 
arch himself,  was  less  devoted  to  mistresses,  and  the  im- 
perious Richelieu  would  suffer  no  intrigues,  except  to 
VI]  19 


14G 


IlISTOUY  OF  i'lVllJZATlON. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


147 


advance  his  own  objects.  But  the  death  of  the  great  car- 
dinal and  of  Louis  XIII,  and  the  surrender  of  the  govern- 
ment to  the  regency  of  Anne  of  Austria,  during  the 
minority  of  Louis  XIV,  aflbrded  an  opportunity,  by  no 
means  to  be  neglected,  to  the  reestablishment  of  female 
influence  and  intrigue  in  matters  of  state. 

These  were  the  times  of  the  Fronde,  and  perhaps 
no  other  period  of  history  presents  a  greater  amount  and 
variety  of  female  intrigue.  The  memoirs  of  the  Cardinal 
De  Eetz,  and  the  secret  history  of  the  French  court,  by 
Cousin,  give  full  details  of  the  intrigues  of  this  period. 
Madame  de  Chevreuse,  the  Duchess  de  Montbazon,  the 
Duchess  de  Longueville,  and  others,  largely  participated 
with  the  Cardinal  de  Retz,  in  the  intrigues  and  cabals  of 
that  period. 

The  long  reign  of  Louis  XIY,  covering  the  last  half  of 
the  seventeenth,  and  the  forepart  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
presents  a  period  of  great  development  of  the  social  life  in 
France.  It  is  court  life  of  which  the  record  has  been  kept, 
and  it  was  that  which  more  or  less  influenced  all  the  lower 
forms.  It  has  been  said  that  at  no  other  period  did  any 
other  court  combine  **  so  much  external  splendor,  with  so 
much  internal  wretchedness;  pleasures  so  diversified  and 
so  turbulent,  with  a  silence  so  uniform  and  so  profound ; 
such  ostentatious  piety  with  sueli  abominable  depravity, 
such  a  pompous  etiquette,  with  such  a  shameless  violation 
of  all  the  laws  of  decorum ;  finally,  such  a  refinement  of 
language,  and  of  the  bon  ton  of  society,  with  such  a  want 
of  real  good  sense,^  as  the  court  of  Louis  XIV."  He 
required  all  families,  and  persons  of  distinction,  who  could 
by  any  possibility  afford  it,  to  make  the  court  their  usual 
residence,  and  thus  to  swell  his  magnificent  train.  The 
hotels  of  the  great,  like  the  courts  of  the  king,  became 
the  schools  of  politeness,  where  not  only  the  graces,  but 
the  vices  of  the  courtiers  were  disseminated  in  the  capital 


and  communicated  to  the  provinces.  So  expensive  was 
the  style  of  living,  that  a  large  portion  of  the  nobility  were 
reduced  by  it  to  indigence.  Under  no  other  monarch  was 
the  love  of  amusement  and  conviviality  so  generally  com- 
municated by  the  court  to  the  higher  classes,  and  thus 
diffused  through  the  metropolis  and  provinces.^  During 
his  reign  occurred  an  important  invention,  a  fertile  source 
of  new  profligacies,  which  has  ever  since  played  an  import- 
ant part  in  society  in  France.  That  was  the  masqued 
balls,  at  which  under  the  most  perfect  disguise,  the  great- 
est moral  enormities  were  practiced.  The  etiquette  intro- 
duced into  the  court  of  Louis  XIV  became  that  of  most  of 
the  other  courts  of  Europe.  It  was  principally  distin- 
guished by  its  exemption  from  all  restraint,  and  by  its 
pomp  and  solemnity. 

It  has  been  remarked  that  during  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV, 
the  women  of  the  higher  ranks  were  not  only  more  polished 
but  possessed  more  solid  attainments  than  the  men.  They, 
more  than  the  men,  contributed  to  the  improvement  of  the 
language,  of  the  bon  ton  in  society,  and  of  good  taste  in 
composition.^  They  set  the  best  examples  of  wit,  equally 
delicate,  pleasing  and  refined.  It  was  the  age  of  Madame 
de  Sevigne,  the  Grignans,  De  Villars,  and  a  multitude  of 
others,  ladies  happy  in  the  selection  and  employment 
of  their  words  and  phrases,  who  could  often  express  a 
whole  sentiment  in  a  single  word,  and  charm  by  the  suc- 
cession and  connection  of  their  ideas. 

The  state  of  morals  during  this  period  is  described  as 
beyond  measure  deplorable.  Chastity  and  conjugal  fidelity 
became  subjects  of  ridicule.  Married  people  first  began  to 
be  ashamed  of  each  other.  Husband  and  wife  hardly  ven- 
tured to  appear  together  in  public.^  Fashion  taught  that 
any  other  man  had  a  better  right  to  wives  than  their  hus- 
bands, and  that  any  other  woman  had  a  better  right  to 
husbands  than  their  wives.     The  women  lived  continually 


Meiners's  History  of  the  Female  Sex,  in,  CD. 


» MHncrs's  History  of  the  Female  Se.r,  ni,  106.    '  Idem,  121.    '  Idem,  177. 


148 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


in  the  company  of  strange  men,  and  the  men  in  the  society 
of  other  women.  Both  sexes  mutiially  encouraged  the  de- 
pravity of  each  other.  As  the  women  lost  the  delicate 
sense  of  modesty  and  shame,  the  men  of  course  lost  all 
respect  for  them.  The  women  who  were  the  greatest 
favorites  of  the  men,  were  so  much  the  worse  wives  and 
mothers.  Faithless  wives  became  an  occurrence  so  ex- 
tremely common,  that  their  husbands  escaped  both  pity 

and  ridicule. 

It  is  certainly  not  suiprising  that  the  blood  of  the 
French  nobility  became  depraved,  and  the  distinctions  of 
rank  almost  abolislied.'  Beautiful  women  were  ready  to 
sacrifice  their  own  honor,  and  that  of  their  families  to  the 
happiness  of  being  the  mistress  of  the  king.  Whole 
families  built  the  hope  of  honors  and  fortune  on  the  beauty 
of  their  daughters,  encouraging  them  to  make  it  their 
study  to  gain  the  aftections  of  the  king. 

The  love  of  pleasure,  pomp,  and  profusion  worked  a 
total  revolution  in  the  general  system  of  life,  in  dress,  ha- 
bitations, furniture,  conveniences,  and  in  the  table,  not 
only  among  the  higher,  but  also  among  the  middling 
classes,  and  through  them,  among  the  lowest  orders  of  the 

people.^ 

The  regency  of  the  duke  of  Orleans  that  succeeded  the 
death  of  Louis  XTV,  surpassed  his  court  in  almost  every 
vice.  All  hypocrisy  was  now  abandoned,  and  the  most 
shameless  licentiousness  prevailed. 

The  reign  of  Louis  XV,  so  far  as  related  to  the  immor- 
alities of  the  monarch,  exceeded  all  former  reigns.  Among 
the  many  profligacies  of  his  reign  was  the  pare  aux  cerfs 
in  which  Madame  de  Pompadour,  the  ruling,  reigning 
mistress,  caused  numbers  of  beautiful  young  girls  to  be 
educated  and  trained  for  the  use  of  the  king.  The  de- 
pravity of  this  reign  was  greater,  more  public  and  more 
generally  imitated,  than  that  of  the  regency  which  pre- 


Meitiers's  History  of  the  Female  Sex,  lu,  186    '  Idem.  192. 


1 

t: 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


149 


1' 


ceded  it.  So  great  was  the  depth  of  the  French  female 
depravity,  and  such  momentum  had  its  corrupt  current 
acquired,  that  it  continued  among  all  classes,  even  after  the 
monarchs,  both  in  principle  and  practice,  gave  a  contrary 

lesson  to  their  subjects. 

Louis  XVI,  the  son  of  the  most  corrupt  of  monarchs, 
and  brought  up  in  the  most  corrupt  of  courts,  was  entirely 
diflerent   from   his  predecessors,   and  had  the   strongest 
inclination  to  everything  good.     The  stream  of  corruption 
in  general  society  kept  on  its  course  unbroken  until  it  be- 
came engulfed  in  the    abyss  of  the  revolution,  when  the 
heads  of  the  royal  family,  and  all  that  remained  in  France 
of  the  noblesse,  fell  beneath  the  guillotine;  the  subversion 
of  female  manners  and  morals  was  as  fundamental  as  that 
of  every  other  part  of  the  social  state,  and  the  vices  of  the 
women  fully  kept  pace  with  those  of  the  men.     It  is  true 
the  age  of  splendor,  magnificence,  and  refinement  had  passed 
away,  but  that  of  depravity  had  not.     All  the   specious 
gilding  had  vanished,  and  nothing  but  the  naked  depra- 
vity remained,  but  that  far  exceeded  all  that  had  yet  been 
seen.     Marriage,    being  one   of  the   sacraments   of   the 
catholic  church,  fell  with  the  church.^     Hence  the  marriage 
vow  ceased  to  possess  any  force,  and  the  commerce  of  the 
sexes  became  promiscuous.     The  women  took  an  active 
part  in  all  the  massacres  that  were  perpetrated.     They  laid 
aside  their  refined  immorality  and  courtly  prostitutions  for 
blacker  crimes.     In  the  development  of  the  social  element 
history  offers  no  darker  page  than  the  reign  of  terror. 

From  the  social  and  political  convulsion  of  the  revolution 
emerged,  through  a  rapid  succession  of  changes,  the  France 
of  the  present  day.  It  will  be  readily  perceived  that  its 
social  element,  more  especially,  has  traveled  through  a  his- 
tory more  extraordinary  than  that  of  any  other  people,  and 
which  may  well  affect  the  character  of  its  present  and 
future  populations. 


Ohenerlr,  ii,  399. 


150 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


All  classes  of  people  but  one,  or  possibly  two,  are  repre- 
sented in  Paris.  The  peasant  class,  large  in  number, 
although  not  in  wealth  or  influence,  have  there  no  repre- 
sentatives. It  may  be  also  well  doubted  whether  the  small 
land  holders,  which  are  a  very  numerous  body,  are  there 
at  all  represented.  With  the  exceptions  of  rural  life,  and 
everything  appertaining  to  it,  it  may  perhaps  be  safe  to 
assume  that  "  Paris  is  France." 

The  French  in  their  persons  are  rather  shorter  than  their 
neighbors,  and  not  quite  as  robust  or  large.  The  pure 
type  of  the  Teutonic  stock,  and  even  the  mixtures  of  that 
stock  as  they  exist  in  Eiighmd,  are  of  a  considerably  larger 
size.  But  the  French  are  extremely  active  and  well  pro- 
portioned, and  more  exempt  from  bodily  deformity  than 
other  nations.  Their  complexions  are,  in  general,  dark  or 
sallow,  and  this  may,  perhaps,  have  given  rise  to  the  custom 
so  generally  practiced  among  the  ladies  of  painting  their 
faces.  The  women  in  France  have  always  been  more 
celebrated  for  vivacity  and  wit  than  personal  beauty. 

The  superior  people  are  particularly  careful  to  accom- 
plish themselves  in  the  exercise  of  dancing,  fencing,  and 
riding,  in  all  which  they  generally  excel  their  neighbors 
in  point  of  gracefulness.  Some  few  of  the  princes  of 
the  blood,  and  a  few  of  the  nobility,  are  more  magni- 
ficent in  their  palaces  and  equipages,  than  any  of  the 
English ;  but,  as  a  general  thing,  and  taking  it  especially 
throughout  France,  they  are  much  inferior  to  them  in 
those  respects. 

The  two  points  in  which  English  and  French  life  are 
brought  into  marked  contrast,  are  the  domestic  and  social. 
In  the  former,  centre  the  English  ;  in  the  latter,  the  French. 
The  former  seek  for  their  pleasures  in  their  homes ;  the 
latter,  in  general  society.  There  is  probably  no  species  of 
life  so  eminently  social  as  the  French.  From  these  two 
points,  home,  and  the  social  circle  outside  of  home,  radi- 
ate very  many  of  the  peculiar  traits  that  characterize  each 
nationality. 


1%  - 


EUROPE— ITS  {SOCIETY. 


151 


I 


Social  life  tends  to  become  diffuse  and  varied,  frivolous, 
and  restless.  It  originates  the  desire  of  pleasing.  Gayety 
and  vivacity  are  its  constant  attendants.  Sparkling  witi- 
cisms,  the  elegant  bon  mot,  the  ready  retort,  are  the  ever 
current  coin  of  French  society.  To  render  one's  self 
happy  by  constantly  making  everybody  else  so,  is  the 
great  effort  of  the  higher  classes.  Even  in  the  lower,  and 
among  the  common  people,  the  practice  of  politeness,  of 
mutual  deference  to  each  other's  wants  and  wishes,  is 
always  practiced.  That  which  preeminently  constitutes 
the  social  element,  the  unceasing  study  and  practice  of 
the  agreeable,  is  more  fully  carried  out  by  the  French, 
than  by  any  other  people.  This,  it  is  true,  has  led  to  the 
charge  that  they  are  heartless  and  hypocritical.  The 
answer  to  the  first  is,  that  heart  has  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  the  matter.  Neither  affection,  nor  real  benevo- 
lence, have  necessarily  anything  to  do  with  the  finest  de- 
velopment of  the  social  element. 

The  answer  to  the  last  is,  that  there  is  no  designed 
hypocrisy  practiced.  The  Frenchman,  in  his  lavish  pro- 
fessions of  the  most  intimate  regard,  is  using  words  in 
accordance  with  the  custom  of  his  country.  He  means 
them  in  the  sense  only  in  which  Frenchmen  understand 
them.  They  are  intended  for  the  meridian  of  Paris,  and 
not  for  that  of  London.  They  are  only  made  use  of  as 
forms  of  expression,  and  never  as  a  cloak  to  conceal  hos- 
tility. Frenchmen  are  never  deceived  by  them,  a  very 
good  evidence  that  the  charge  is  groundless. 

The  French  character  and  mode  of  developing  social 
life  is  so  directly  the  antipodes  of  the  English  that  it  is 
hardly  possible  for  the  one  to  entertain  a  proper  apprecia- 
tion of  the  other.  With  the  latter  it  is  the  home  and  inner 
life  that  are  the  most  cultivated ;  with  the  former,  society 
and  the  outer  life.  The  points  of  divergence  commence 
early,  and  continue  to  grow  as  they  progress. 

That  union  from  which  all  society  is  derived,  and  the 
principles  presiding  over  married  life,  offer  peculiarities 


152 


UISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


among  tlie  French  differing  from  those  of  most  other  peo- 
ple. Marriage  among  them  is  a  union  of  interests,  very 
seldom  indeed  of  the  affections.  It  is  a  mere  business 
arrangement  for  the  mutual  convenience  of  both  parties. 
It  is  preceded  by  a  life  of  seclusion  on  the  part  of  the 
female.  Girls  in  the  higher  classes  are  either  educated  by 
governesses,  or  placed  in  boarding  schools  where  all  com- 
munication with  the  other  sex  is  cut  off.  So  full  of  depra- 
vity is  the  external  world  regarded,  that  the  boys  are 
subjected  to  the  same  kind  of  treatment.  Botli  boyhood 
and  girlhood  in  France,  among  the  higher  classes,  are 
passed  in  great  seclusion.  From  the  silent,  listless  boy  and 
girl,  knowing  little,  and  seeming  to  care  still  less,  about 
how  things  are  going  on  in  the  world,  guarded  night  and 
day  as  securely  as  if  they  were  criminals,  evincing  no  live- 
liness of  tongue  or  manner,  spiritless  of  limb  and  sluggish 
of  movement,  one  would  hardly  expect  as  an  outgrowth, 
the  kind  of  character  which  after  years  exhibits  so  fully 
to  the  world.  It  only  evidences  what  in  almost  everything 
else  is  fully  apparent,  viz  :  that  the  French  character  is 
full  of  many  seeming  paradoxes,  some  very  difficult  to  be 
reconciled  with  each  other. 

To  the  boy  manhood,  to  the  girl  marriage  bring  the 
same  thing,  viz  :  social  liberty  ;  and  the  excesses  of  which 
both  are  often  guilty  in  its  enjoyment  are  no  doubt  due  in 
part  to  the  studied  seclusion  in  which  they  are  brought  up. 

The  marriage  is  a  mere  matter  of  business.  It  is  the 
result  of  a  negotiation  with  the  parent  or  guardian  of  the 
lady  in  which  age  or  health,  or  even  beauty,  are  but  little 
regarded,  the  great  point  of  inquiry  relating  to  the  amount 
of  dowry  she  can  bring.  The  husband  is  purchased  by  the 
money  which  the  bride  is  enabled  to  furnish.  In  this 
manner  great  inequalities  of  age  and  incompatibilities  of 
temper  are  very  frequently  brought  together.  This  to  the 
female  would  be  utterly  insupportable  in  idea,  were  it  not 
for  the  liberty,  the  free  enjoyment  of  wliat  life  offers,  with 
all  the  brilliant  anticipations  which  a  life  of  seclusion  is  so 


- 


^ 


i<«ni 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


153 


ready  to  promise,  which  married  state  brings  along  with  it. 
This  is  generally  a  sufficient  inducement  to  gain  her  con- 
sent to  wed  a  man  almost  or  quite  a  stranger. 

But  those  who  suppose  that  a  French  heart  can  subsist 
without  love  are  much  mistaken.  :N'ature  is  true  to  her 
trust  there  as  everywhere  else.  When  married,  they  love 
their  partners  if  they  are  able.  If  not,  then  somebody  else. 
But  they  always  preserve  appearances.  An  elopement 
would  violate  the  proprieties  of  life,  and  hence  is  seldom, 
if  ever,  witnessed.  There  is  constantly  practiced  great 
mutual  discretion.  Husbands  and  wives  are  blind  to  the 
loves  of  each  other.  They  have  no  right  in  strictness  to  be 
otherwise.  Neither  can  complain  that  there  is  any  viola- 
tion of  faith.  Both  have  got  what  they  bargained  for,  the 
one,  liberty ;  the  other,  money.  Love  was  no  party  to  the 
contract.  He  would  undoubtedly  be  welcomed  were  he  to 
make  his  home  with  them.  ISTot  arriving,  each  seeks  a 
congenial  companion.  The  husband  continues  the  habits 
of  his  bachelor  life,  the  wife  revels  in  the  new  liberty  of 
which  she  finds  herself  the  possessor.  "  Every  man  is  be- 
lieved to  have  his  mistress,"  and  every  married  woman, 
her  liberty;  and  how  far  she  pushes  the  enjoyment  of  that 
is  never  a  matter  to  be  presumed. 

The  modes  often  resorted  to,  to  bring  about  marriage,  are 
in  harmony  with  the  character  of  it  once  effected.  The 
French  have  great  directness  in  the  means  of  accomplishing 
their  purposes.  You  will  read  in  the  public  paper  a  notice 
to  the  effect  that  "A  female  orphan,  possessing  a  good 
fortune,  having  immediate  occasion  to  marry,  desires  a 
husband.  Address,  etc.,  etc."  Marriage  agencies  are 
estabhshed  all  over  Paris,^  and  advertisements  are  found, 
"  M.  de  Foy,  negotiator  of  marriages,  to  mothers  of  families." 
The  house  of  M.  Foy  in  France  has  branches  in  England, 
Belgium,  Germany  and  America. 


'  Parisum  Sights,  etc.,  i,  29. 

yi"l  20 


154 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


t 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


155 


In  marriages  thus  effected,  and  upon  such  principles, 
what  shall  be  thought  of  the  homes  of  France  ?  Even  the 
French  language  hardly  admits  it.  It  is  simply  ''  choz- 
moi"  a  spot  where  the  individual  "  moi  "  may  be  located, 
sometimes  where  he  sleeps,  oftener  where  he  cats  ;  where 
lie  finds  it  most  for  his  individual  pleasure  to  be.  "  Ft  is 
wherever  he  shines  brightest  or  dazzles  most.  His  plea- 
sures consist  in  the  outer  life,  the  external  gilding;  bright 
and  beautiful  without,^  but  often  like  gold  leaf,  covering 
what  is  decayed  and  hollow  within."  There  lacks  the 
motive  to  surround  his  home  with  delights,  and  the  differ- 
ence in  his  appearance  there  and  elsewhere  is  generally 
well  marked. 

Few  things  in  France  strike  a  stranger  with  more 
force  than  the  intimate  relations  existing  between  the 
social  and  political  elements,  and  the  intimate  depend- 
ence of  the  former  upon  the  latter.  Instead  of  the  go- 
vernment resting  upon  the  aggregate  of  persons  living 
under  it,  as  in  England  and  America,  there  is  here  a 
complete  reversal,  and  the  individual  rests  upon  the  go- 
vernment, which  itself  forms  the  great  base  of  society. 
This  is  more  especially  apparent  in  its  police,  and  its 
charities. 

It  is  astonishing  to  what  miiuitijx;  the  police  regulations 
extend.  In  Paris  alone,  its  prefect  has  a  corps  of  three 
hundred  clerks.  His  bureau  is  divided  into  several  differ- 
ent departments,  each  having  its  own  special  functions, 
but  all,  when  necessary,  rendering  mutual  assistance. 
There  is,  for  instance,  the  chief  of  the  conservators  of 
public  safety,  who  ferrets  out  the  perpetrators  of  crime; 
the  chief  who  watches  over  all  persons  of  doubtful  political 
views,  clandestine  gaming  houses,  etc. ;  one  who  regulates 
the  houses  of  ill- fame;  another  the  public  vehicles ;  another, 
the  boats  that  navigate  tlie  Seine,  pre.scribing  wliat  they 
shall  bring,  and   how   they   shall    unlade   their   cargoes; 


-  *', 


another  regulates  the  price  and  sale  of  provisions,  which 
they  suppose  if  left  to  regulate  itself,^  would  by  its  fierce 
competition,  either  ruin  those  who  should  embark  in  it, 
or  injuriously  affect  their  customers  by  the  frauds  they 
would  be  driven  to  perpetrate.  Another  still  has  the 
chai-ge  of  everything  relating  to  the  public  health,  such  as 
drains,  closets,  gas  establishments,  etc.  Thus,  the  govern- 
ment is  made  to  extend  to,  and  regulate  the  most  common 
affairs  of  life.  Every  steam  engine  must  be  thoroughly 
tested,  before  being  used  ;  every  manufacture  deleterious 
to  health  must  be  completely  isolated ;  not  a  pig  can  be 
killed  in  Paris ;  the  exterior  of  every  building  is  subjected  to 
rigid  supervision,  to  see  that  there  are  no  faulty  chimneys, 
insecure  shutters,  sign  boards,  or  encumbered  side- walks. 
Each  profession  is  supervised,^  and  required  to  be  compe- 
tent to  exercise  its  calling.  Quackery  is  compelled  to 
contest  with  the  police,  with  little  chance  of  success.  N'o 
patent  medicines  can  be  vended  or  advertised,  until  they 
have  been  examined  and  approved.  Provisions  are  also 
subject  to  the  same  thorough  inspection,  as  medicines. 
Wines  and  liquors  have  their  regular  tasters.  Even  the 
price  of  meat  and  bread  is  a  matter  of  police  regulation. 

The  system  of  French  police  is,  perhaps  the  most  perfect 
in  existence.  It  is  by  no  means  confined  to  its  uniformed 
agents,  who,  being  known,  are  easily  avoided.  Besides 
these,  there  are  the  secret  agents,  whose  eyes  and  ears  are 
in  every  cafe,  restaurant,  corner,  or  place  of  assemblage, 
viewing,  unseen;  and  hearing,  unheard.  Of  Protean  shape 
and  chameleon  color,  they  are  at  home  in  all  localities. 
The  musician  at  his  organ,  the  commissionaire  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  street,  the  porter  at  the  door,  who,  through  the 
kitchen,  can  learn  what  transpires  in  the  parlor;  each  has 
his  mission,  and  all  aid  in  perfecting  a  system  of  espionage 
which  ramifies  through  all  classes  of  society.  They  are 
not  alone  in  the  employ  of  the  government.     Their  ser- 


Parisian  Sights,  etc.,  ii,  52. 


•  Parisian  Sights,  dr.,  i,  138,  139.     'Idem,  141. 


i^ 


156 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


vices,  for  a  consideration,  can  be  enlisted  by  individuals, 
Through  their  aid,  the  husband  can  follow  his  wife,  and  the 
wife  her  husband,  through  all  the  devious  windings  of  Paris. 

This  rigid  system  of  police  seems  to  be  a  necessity  in 
France.  It  has  lived  and  thrived  through  every  govern- 
ment, the  monarchy,  empire,  and  republic.  It  has  also 
adopted  means  the  best  calculated  to  effect  its  ends.  Every 
workman  is  required  to  liave  a  livret,  or  species  of  pass- 
port, indorsed  by  tlie  police,  witliout  which  he  is  treated 
as  a  vagabond,  and  any  one  em[)l(>ying  him  is  subject  to  a 
heavy  fine. 

But  on  the  othei'  hand  vice  has  its  own  systeniatized 
ortcanization.  The  woi-ld  of  robbers  is  a  numerous  one, 
and  embraces  every  category  of  crime.  There  exist  in 
Paris  professors  of  robbery,  who  hold  regular  courses  of 
lectures,'  in  which  they  explain  theoretically  every  species 
of  theft,  accompanying  them  with  practical  illustrations 
upon  manikins  constructed  for  the  purpose. 

So  also  beggary  has  its  organization,  its  schools  and 
professors.  The  French  give  to  distress  very  generously, 
and  perhaps  somewhat  indiscriminately.  The  official  num- 
ber of  mendicants  in  France  is  4,000,000,  or  one  in  nine 
of  the  entire  population.  The  scale  on  which  France  or- 
ganizes her  benevolence  is  stupendous.  Her  expenditures 
for  hospitals  are  enormous.  The  Foundling  Hospital 
receives  all  the  infants  brought  to  it  for  support.  Among 
the  most  beneficial  organizations  for  tlie  purposes  of  bene- 
volence are  the  sisters  of  charity,  which  alone  of  all  the 
institutions  of  the  catholic  church,  went  through  the  reign 
of  terror  not  only  unmolested,  but  su8tain«Ml  and  respected. 
French  wit,  philosophy,  skepticism,  and  revolutions,  have 
always  equally  respected  the  sisters  of  charity.  "  Their 
rule  is  that  of  universal  brotherhood,  their  sacrifice  the  en- 
tire renunciation  of  the  world,  and  their  faith  that  active 
charity  which  is  the  bond  of  peace  and  good  will  among 


^  Parman  Sights,  etc.,  i,  145. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


157 


men."  "  Their  post  is  at  the  bedside  of  disease  and  death, 
carrying  Iielp  and  hope  across  the  threshold  of  poverty, 
comforting  and  taming  maniac  violence  and  criminal  desire 
by  that  principle  whose  soft  answers  and  heavenly  deeds 
turn  away  wratli,  and  bring  alike  all  human  passion  sub- 
missive and  hopeful  at  the  feet  of  a  Saviour."  Well,  there- 
fore, may  infidels  and  atheists,  republicans  and  imperialists, 
enemies  and  friends  of  Rome  acknowledge  their  services  to 
humanity.  Those  composing  this  sisterhood  are  not  alone 
the  disappointed  and  afflicted  whom  the  world  has  cast  off.' 
They  are  often  the  young,  the  comely,  who  have  left 
homes  of  affluence.  They  are  at  liberty  at  any  time  to  re- 
turn and  reunite  with  .  the  circle  they  had  forsaken. 
"  Theirs  is  the  unorganized  charity  of  the  heart,  the  spon- 
taneous offering  of  individual  piety."  ''  While  distinctions 
and  organizations  exist  among  men,  the  humble  garb  of 
the  sisters  of  charity,  as  they  pass  silently  and  quietly 
through  the  streets  of  Paris  on  their  errands  of  mercy,  will 
serve  to  remind  both  tlie  protestant  and  the  catholic  that 
the  religion  that  visits  and  comforts  the  widow  and  father- 
less still  exists  in  the  world."  This  institution,  in  its  real 
spirit  and  essence,  is  peculiarly  French,  and  as  it  often 
exhibits  the  most  complete  self-renunciation  in  the  very 
midst  of  the  highest  degree  of  worldly  enjoyment,  affords 
one  of  the  instances  in  illustration  of  the  stranga  anoma- 
lies, not  to  say  contradictions,  that  are  to  be  found  in  the 
French  character. 

Another  institution  peculiarly  French,  and  of  which  the 
offices  of  the  sisters  of  charity  rendered  by  the  bedside  of 
the  dying  is  suggestive,  is  the  morgue  of  Paris.  It  is  the 
place  of  the  dead,  a  plain  Doric  building  in  which  behind 
a  glass  partition,^  entirely  naked  with  the  exception  oi 
waist  cloths,  and  laid  out  upon  inclined  slabs,  having  tiny 
streams  of  water  directed  over  them  to  keep  them  fresh, 
are  kept  for  three  days  the  bodies  of  all  persons  found 


Wnrishf/i  %7/^s  'V('..  I.  30o.     'Mem,  41). 


158 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


divested  of  life.  There  are  deposited  tlie  bodies  of  all 
those  who  encounter  death  by  accident  or  suicide.  The 
latter  furnishes  the  largest  contributions,  for  it  is  another 
anomaly,  or  seeming  contradiction,  in  French  character, 
that  in  the  very  midst  of  all  lifes'  highest  and  brightest 
enjoyments,  without  any,  or  with  the  slighest  apparent 
reason,  the  fatal  step  is  taken  that  plunges  its  subject  into 
the  unkonwn  future.  The  annual  number  of  suicides  in 
France  is  about  twenty-five  hundred. 

The  object  of  this  is  the  identification  of  the  bodies  by 
their  friends,  and  if  not  identified  and  claimed  witliin  the 
three  days  they  are  buried  at  the  public  expense. 

This  is  a  strange  show  in  the  very  lieart  of  civilization. 
Its  daily  exhibition  attracts  a  constantly  changing  crowd 
of  young  and  old  of  both  sexes,  who,  with  prying  curiosity, 
cold  and  speculating  in  its  character,  examine  the  lifeless 
remains,  often  accompanying  their  scrutiny  with  coarse 
jests  and  ribald  laughter.  In  a  city,  however,  where  death 
by  accident  or  suicide  is  so  constantly  occurring,  such  an 
institution  has  its  obvious  utility,  and  its  suddenly  break- 
ing upon  one's  vision  amid  so  many  scenes  of  surrounding 
life  and  action,  furnishes  another  of  those  contrasts  or 
strange  contradictions  everywhere  diversitying  the  social 
life  of  the  French  people. 

The  French,  in  large  cities,  especially  in  Paris,  so  con- 
struct their  houses  as  to  form  a  hollow  square  with  a  court 
yard  in  the  centre.  This  admits  of  two  ranges  of  apart- 
ments, tlie  one  facing  the  street,  the  other  the  court  yard, 
while  the  two  connecting  arms  contain  the  kitchen  and 
other  conveniences.  They  are  from  five  to  nine  stories 
high,  each  range  or  story  having  its  wide  circular  staircase 
for  the  gentry  and  its  small  dark  way  for  the  domestics. 
While  t'lie  ground  floor  is  devoted  to  shops,  stables,  and 
the  porters'  quarters,  the  stories  above  accommodate  two 
families  on  eacli  floor,  each  haviii*r  its  separate  kitchen 
and  drains,  and  tlie  residents  of  tlie  different  stories  being 
generally  strangers  to  each  other. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


159 


But  the  French  have  a  great  reputation  for  living  out 
of  doors.  They  seem  ever  ready  to  escape  from  their  home 
nests,  of  which  they  are  not  particularly  vain,  especially  of 
the  odors  that- visit  the  olfactories  in  each  apartment  with 
the  accessions  derived  from  every  other.  The  city  cafes 
and  restaurants  meet  with  very  extensive  patronage, 
especially  those  of  lesser  magnitude,  on  Sunday,  a  day  when 
it  is  asserted  no  Frenchman  dines  under  his  own  roof.^ 
The  rush  is  then  fearful  both  of  individuals  and  entire 
families.  The  habit  is  very  early  formed  by  the  French- 
man of  becoming  familiar  with  restaurants  and  cafes, 
spending  his  evenings  at  the  latter,  reading  the  journals, 
dissipating  and  playing  chess  or  other  games.  It  is  the 
cafe  that  does  much  to  educate  the  Frenchman,  while 
the  club  is  about  equally  important  in  the  education  of 
the  Englishman.  A  Frenchman  breakfasts  at  noon,  dines 
when  the  American  sups,  and  returns  from  balls  at  a  not 
very  early  hour  in  the  morning.^  Much  of  French  life  in 
Paris  is  spent  on  the  boulevards;  in  the  baths  on  the 
Seine,  and  at  the  galons,  theatres,  balls  and  places  of  amuse- 
ment. 

The  boulevards  are  the  broad  avenues  surrounding  old 
Paris.  Spacious,  sliaded,  and  bounded  by  palatial  struc- 
tures, they  constitute  the  empire  of  the  curious,  the  vain, 
and  the  idler  of  every  lashionable  class.  The  macadamized 
way  is  as  smooth  as  a  jointed  floor,  allowing  thousands  of 
gay  equipages  to  roll  noiseless  over  its  surface.  At  certain 
times  in  the  day  it  is  the  great  focus  of  Parisian  life. 
Every  fixshion  finds  itself  a  home.  It  is  the  jubilee  of 
fashions,  and  the  paradise  of  manners.  The  Parisian 
crowd  has  been  compared  in  its  onward  flow  to  the  current 
of  a  deep  river.  The  very  crowd  is  so  instinct  with  polite- 
ness that  there  is  no  invasion  of  individual  rights,  or  if  any 
such  should  happen  by  accident  the  prompt  apology  is  ever 
ready,  leaving  behind  an  agreeable  reminiscence  rather 


*  Parman,  SigJits  and  French  PmiHpks,  i,  17.    "^  Idem,  25,  26. 


160 


HISTORY  OF  civn:izA'rioN. 


than  the  contrary.  At  uiglit  tlie  splendors  of  gas  arc  super- 
added, and  the  boulevards  are  in  a  blaze  of  liglit.  It  is 
then  that  they  appear  to  the  best  advantage,  and  that  every 
one  is  abroad  for  pleasure. 

l^ext  to  the  boulevards  the  banks  of  the  Seine  present 
as  if  in  strong  contrast  the  march  of  working  life  as  the 
heavy  arm  of  labor  plies  its  tasks  on  the  quays,  and  in 
stores,  vessels  and  workshops.  A  feature  of  no  small 
interest,  here,  are  the  bathing  houses,  with  every  variety  of 
drice  and  every  style  of  luxury.  Here  Monsieur,  having 
made  and  remade  his  bath,  "  nicely  graduating  the  tempera- 
ture to  his  varying  and  delightful  sensations,"  spends 
sometimes  hours  in  dosincforin  readinfi:.  But  no  French- 
man  can  be  long  liappy  without  talking,  and  accordingly 
at  the  head  of  every  bathing  tub  there  is  a  slide  in  the 
partition,  which  by  pushing  back  enables  him  to  discharge 
his  excess  of  volubility  upon  his  neighbor  in  the  next 
room  who  may  happen  to  be  similarly  engaged.  Some- 
times the  apparatus  is  double-tubbed,  thus  aftbrding  both 
the  opportunity  of  exercising  their  colloquial  powers  with- 
out  interruption  from  others. 

To  the  French,  more  than  to  any  other  people,  amuse- 
ments seem  to  be  a  matter  of  necessity.  The  demand  ori- 
ginating from  this  necessity,  has  called  into  existence  a 
number  and  variety  nowhere  else  found.  Among  these 
the  theatre  plays  a  conspicuous  part.  The  Frenchman 
could  not  exist  without  the  play-house.  "It  is  his  school 
of  manners;  his  forum  of  education;  his  teacher  of  history; 
the  parent  of  his  ideas;  a  living  monument,  in  which  anti- 
quity reappears  in  the  present.  Tlie  clergy  have  been 
banished  and  massacred ;  the  churches  sacked  and  dese- 
crated; but  the  drama  has  triumphantly  held  its  own, 
through  every  revolution,  oftener  giving  law  to  society  than 
imitating  it.'' 

It  is  not  alone  the  higher  classes  that  frequent  the  theatre. 
All  classes,  except  perhaps  the  very  lowest,  go  to  them. 
The  theatres  present  the  means  of  action  the  most  direct, 


f 


KP ROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


IGl 


<^ 


the  most  prompt,  and  the  most  continuous  upon  the  masses. 
Their  mission  is  not  simply  to  amuse,  but  also  to  inspire  a 
correct  taste,  to  counteract  an  increasing  tendency  to 
coarseness  of  manners,  and  to  teach  the  art  de  vivre  among 
the  French  people. 

But,  unfortunately,  while  its  agency  in  polishing  the 
manners,  refining  the  conduct,  and  in  giving  a  good  taste 
in  the  use  of  language  may  be  admitted,  yet  its  influence 
upon  morals  has  always  been  unfortunate.  The  vice  lying 
at  the  foundation  of  everything  in  France  is  that  the  art 
de  vivre  as  understood  there  does  not  embrace  useful  and 
solid  qualities,  the  purity  of  domestic  life,  or  the  develop- 
ment of  correct  principles.  The  theatre  can  therefore  have 
no  moral  aim.  This  is  noticeable  in  Compt's  theatre^  for 
children,  at  which,  although  a  slight  attempt  is  occasionally 
made  to  point  a  moral,  yet  the  great  burden  of  the  per- 
formance is  to  amuse  by  jokes,  and  ludicrous  spectacles  or 
to  frighten  by  phantoms  and  hobgoblins.  Among  these  a 
bear  hunt  and  giving  a  clyster  to  a  cat  may  be  mentioned 
as  illustrations. 

The  general  character  of  the  pieces  performed  at  the 
theatre  is  loose  and  corrupting.  Their  tendency  is  to  in- 
crease the  prevailing  sentiment  of  ridicule  toward  a  deceived 
husband,  and  to  enlist  the  sympathies  in  the  success  of  the 
intriguing  of  either  sex.  Besides,  they  pander  grossly  to 
the  taste  for  double  entendre  and  the  wanton  exposure  of 
the  female  person.  They  cannot  exhibit  the  poetry  of 
motion  without  nature  unadorned.  And  what  renders 
everything  the  more  dangerous  is  that  the  subtle  poison  of 
the  stage,  is  united  with  so  much  that  is  captivating  to  the 
senses  and  gratifying  to  the  intellect. 

The  direction  of  the  theatres  is  too  important  to  be  left 
to  chance.  In  this,  also,  the  government  has  a  right  to  in- 
terfere, which  it  not  unfrequently  exercises.  This  right 
rests  in  part  upon  the  support  which  it  is  compelled  to  ren- 


^Paridan,  8ig?U8  and  French  Principles,  i,  190. 
VI]  21 


1G2 


lilSTUUl  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


163 


der  them.  The  annual  amount  which  has  been  paid  by 
the  French  government  for  the  support  of  the  theatres  in 
Paris  has  amounted  to  two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand 
dollars.^ 

There  is  a  system  of  claquery  connected  with  the  con- 
ducting of  the  French  theatre.  This  consists  of  a  body  of 
claquers,  some  fifty  persons,  located  in  the  centre  of  the 
parquette,  just  under  the  clmndelier,  who  are  most  tho- 
roughly drilled  in  the  art  of  applauding.  They  are  an 
organized  body,  having  their  regular  leaders,  whose 
motions  they  follow  with  great  regularity.  They  bestow 
their  applause  in  accordance  with  the  movements  of  their 
chief,  and  a  dramatic  performance  is  either  applauded  into 
notice  or  dismissed  with  a  sullen  silence  as  the  compensation 
bestowed  rises  or  diminishes  in  amount. 

The  women  have  always  played  an  important  part  in 
the  social  and  even  the  political  life  of  the  French  people. 
Their  aptitude  and  adroitness  at  private  intrigue  have  no- 
where been  so  fully  tested  as  at  Paris.  There  has  probably 
been  no  other  instance  in  which  political  power  has  drawn 
from  social  life  so  much  to  sustain  and  give  it  efficacy, 
^o  other  government  has  ever  been  so  largely  indebted  to 
gallantry  in  the  shaping  of  its  plans  and  purposes,  and  in 
devising  means  for  their  execution.  Cardinal  Muzarin  be- 
ing congratuhited  on  the  re[»ose  lie  was  about  to  taste,  re- 
plied "  that  one  never  can  promise  himself  repose  in  France 
and  that  even  the  women  there  are  greatly  to  be  feared.^ 
You  Spaniards  may  well  speak  of  your  ease.  Your  women 
trouble  themselves  about  nothing  but  love,  but  it  is  not  so 
in  France.  We  have  three  there  now  who  would  be  quite 
capable  of  governing  or  of  overthrowing  three  great  king- 
doms, the  Duchess  de  Longueville,  the  princess  palatine,  and 
Madame  de  Chevreuse."  The  political  life  of  the  latter, 
so  fully  given  by  Cousin,  extends  through  much  of  the  reign 


*  Parisian  SigJUs  and  French  Pri7icij)le8,  i,  194.    ^  Coumi's  Secret  Ilutari/ 
of  the  French  Court,  5. 


4i 


t 


of  Richelieu  and  Mazarin.  It  was  in  reference  to  her  that 
Cousin  says,  "  I  never  saw  any  one  else  in  whom  intuition 
could  supply  the  place  of  judgment.^  She  often  suggested 
expedients  so  brilliant  that  they  seemed  like  flashes  of 
lightning,  and  so  wise  that  they  would  not  have  been  dis- 
owned by  the  greatest  men  of  any  age."  And  yet  Madame 
de  Chevreuse  was  a  woman  in  the  fullest  sense,  and  in 
this  lay  her  strength  and  also  her  weakness.  Her  first 
impulse  was  love  or  gallantry,  and  she  espoused  the  interests 
of  the  one  she  loved.  This  lady  was  the  opponent  of 
Richelieu  in  the  adroit  political  intrigues,  which  signalized 
the  close  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIII ;  and  in  the  struggle 
of  Cardinal  Mazarin  at  the  commencement  of  his  ministry, 
he  encountered  no  more  powerful  adversary,  or  none  who 
gave  him  more  anxiety  than  she.-  It  was  mainly  to  the 
intrigues  of  women  that  the  wars  of  the  Fronde  owed  their 
origin,  continuance  and  conclusion, 

France,  more  than  any  other  modern  nation,^  has  repro- 
duced the  Grecian  period  of  Aspasia.  Mnon  de  PEnclos 
and  Marion  Delorme  inherited  both  the  accomplishments 
and  the  vices  of  their  Grecian  sister.  It  was  by  no  means 
the  beauty  alone  of  these  modern  Aspasias,  that  secured 
them  success.  The  intellectual  fascinations,  and  refine- 
ments, epicurean  and  corrupting,  of  which  they  had  so 
thorough  a  mastery,  gave  to  their  other  charms  irresistible 
power.  Women,  uniting  in  themselves  education,  beauty, 
and  wit,  maintain  an  empire  in  Paris,  unequaled  else- 
where, in  extent  and  influence.  J^owhere  else  can  be 
found  so  many  women  of  wit  and  genius  mingling  in  the 
assemblies  and  festive  occasions  of  literary  men  ;  and  pro- 
bably in  no  part  of  the  world  is  literary  society  so  refined, 
so  brilliant,  and  so  intellectual,  as  in  Paris. 

But  woman  there,  in  acquiring  and  perpetuating  her 
supremacy,  has  the  good  sense  to   depend  upon   her  own 


^Cousin's  Secret  Illstory  of  the  French  Court,  9.    '^ Idem,  6.    ^Parisian 
Sights  oi(d  Frenrh  Prindplrx,  2d  series,  85. 


I 


164 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


165 


legitimate  attractions.     Her   beauty  is   less  marked  and 
characteristic  than  that  of  the  German,  English,  Italian 
or  Spanish.     Her  force  and  power  lies  more  in  the  peculiar 
spirit  by  which  her  beauty  is  animated,  and  also  in  the 
resources  at  her  command,  in  resisting  the  assaults  of  time. 
While  the  women  of  other  nations  lose  their  hair,  teeth, 
lustre  of  eye,  and  elasticity  of  step,^  the  French  woman, 
by  resorting  to  the  arts  of  the  toilet,  is  enabled  to  baffle, 
for  a  long  time,  the  tendencies  to  decay,  and  retain  her 
empire  in  its  integrity.     She  seems  ever  embalmed  in  the 
spirit  of  youth.     Society  in  France  is  not  limited  to  the 
young  and  thoughtless,  whose  highest  aim  is  amusement. 
It  is  not  the  graces  of  dancing  that  are  alone  cultivated. 
The  art  of  conversation  is  cultivated  and  carried  to  a  high 
degree  of  perfection.     The  Parisian  lady,  so  long  as  she 
can  enter  a  drawing  room,  never  grows  old.     While  she 
preserves  the  delicacy  of  tiie  woman,  she  acquires  tlie  good 
sense  of  the  man.     Having  outlived  the  day  of  passion, 
she  enters,  undisturbed,  the  empire  of  reason.     The  atten- 
tion she  receives  then  flows  from  respect  as  well  as  afiection. 
While  her  memory  is  a  storehouse  of  anecdotes  for  the 
young,  her  experience  and  observation  furnish  wise  sug- 
gestions to  the  mature.^    It  has  been  said  that   "  every 
statesman,  artist,  poet,  in  short,  every  man,  who  has  not 
passed  some  years  in  the  intimacy  of  old  Parisian  women, 
has  failed  in  his  education  of  the  world  ;  and  that  sooner 
or  later,  his   life  will  resent  this  wrong."     The  men  of 
fashion  go  from  one  salon  to  another  on  the  same  night, 
equally  at  home  with  every  one,  but  once  in  the  street, 
only  their  former  associates  are  remembered.     While  in 
society,  each  contributes  his  individual  quota  to  the  general 
enjoyment;  while  out,  resuming  his  individual  liberty  and 
retirement. 

The  salon  and  cafe  is  to  Frencli  society  very  much  what 
the  club  is  to  the  English.     The  first,  however,  has  been 


subject  to  much  variation.  It  was  the  most  brilliant  at  the 
breaking  out  of  the  revolution  of  1789.  There  was  a  linger- 
ing remnant  kept  alive  by  Madame  de  Stael,  and  a  tempo- 
rary revival  under  Madame  Roland,  but  still  the  melancholy 
truth  became  apparent  that  the  salons  and  the  scaffold 
could  not  coexist  together. 

The  former  sank  beneath  the  reign  of  terror,  but  revived 
on  its  termination.  It  was  brilliant  under  the  empire,  and 
under  the  restoration  came  a  new  reign,  that  of  eleven 
women,  with  some  beauty  but  more  of  the  aristocratic 
manners.^  With  the  government  of  Louis  Philippe  came 
a  new  race  of  women,  characterized  by  boldness  of  concep- 
tion, cavalier-like  manners,  sensibilities  susceptible  of  deep 
emotions,  but  only  for  positive  things,  or  where  their  in- 
terests were  concerned. 

Another  development  of  social  life  in  France,  and  one 
in  which  the  activities  of  women  are  unceasing,  relates  to 
the  changing  style  of  fashion.  Paris  dispenses  fashion  to 
the  civilized  world.  In  dress,  ornament,  and  manners, 
she  controls  witliout  a  rival.  In  all  the  changes  for  which 
fashion  is  so  proverbial,  she  takes  the  initiatory  step. 
These  changes  depend  upon  no  law  except  simply  the  love 
of  variety.  To  bring  them  about  requires  invention, 
activity,  and  ingenuity.  It  depletes  the  purses  of  the  rich, 
while  it  feeds,  clothes,  and  houses  half  of  France.  Having 
borrowed  from  every  nation  its  peculiarity,  and  passed  it 
through  the  alembic  of  its  own  taste,  it  is  again  returned 
in  its  modified  form  for  use.  To  attempt  to  trace  out  the  dif- 
ferent fashions  as  they  have  been  promulgated  through  the 
outcrop  of  Parisian  life,  would  present  an  almost  endless 
task,  and  in  the  end  would  be  productive  of  little  else  than 
to  show  the  strange  extent  to  which  the  whim  or  the  faney 
of  the  hour  could  carry  the  moving  masses  of  humanity. 

The  French  have  in  some  instances  manifested  great 
levity  of  character.     As  an  illustration  of  this  it  is  stated 


yParisian  Sights  and  Fmidi  Ptinelpks,  2<1  scricH,  80     ''Idem,  88. 


'  Erhrti,'  Magaduc,  1805,  838. 


166 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


that  while  those  in  prison  were  almost  daily  decimated  by 
the  guillotine  during  the  reign  of  terror,  yet  their  daily 
amusement  was  to  play  at  charades  and  the  guillotine/ 
To  do  this  all  assembled  in  one  of  the  halls,  where  they 
formed  a  revolutionary  tribunal,  consisting  of  accusers  and 
judges,  and  all  the  necessary  adjuncts  of  a  court.  "  Then 
came  the  mock  trial,  and  the  sentence  of  death  following 
close  upon  the  accusation.  They  simulated  the  toilet  of 
the  condemned,  preparing  the  neck  for  the  knife  by  feign- 
ing to  cut  the  hair  and  collar.  The  sentenced  were  then 
attached  to  a  chair  reversed,  to  represent  the  guillotine. 
The  knife  was  of  wood,  and,  as  it  fell,  the  individual  thus 
sporting  with  approaching  fate,  tumbled  down  as  if  actually 
struck  by  tlie  iron  blade.  Often  while  engaged  in  this 
play   they    were   summoned   to  pass   through   the   awful 

reality." 

The  French  character  taken  altogetlier  is  very  much  of 
a  puzzle.  There  are  certainly  many  elements  of  greatness 
in  the  composition  of  the  French  mind.  To  its  profound- 
est  exercises  science  is  largely  indebted  for  its  advancement 
in  modern  times. 


6.  Society  as  it  has  developed  and  is  developing  itself 
among  the  Scandinavian  nations. 

Scandinavia  offers  very  great  variety  in  its  population. 
There  reside  the  Danes,  the  Swedes,  the  Norwegians,  the 
Lapps  and  the  Finns.  Very  few  countries  of  the  same 
extent  present  so  many  distinct  nationalities. 

We  have  before  had  occasion  to  speak  generally  of  the 
early  Scandinavians  ;  their  love  of  liberty;  their  energy  of 
purpose  and  of  character ;  their  strong  military  tendencies ; 
the  manliness  of  their  sports  and  habits.  All  this  had 
reference  more  especially  to  the  inhabitants  of  Denmark, 
Sweden  and  U^orway.  We  shall  now  speak  of  them 
separately,  and  in  regard  to  their  more  modern  exhibitions. 


^ P'fris((f)i  Sights  and  Froo'h  Piiticipks,  2(1  hitics.  !:](>,  137. 


EUKUPE— ITS  SOCIETY 


167 


f 


The  Danes  are  divided  into  several  classes.  There  are: 
1.  The  nobility,  the  owners  of  fiefs,^  the  privileged  class, 
formerly  of  great  importance.  2.  The  titular  nobility,  the 
companions  of  the  Danish  orders  of  knighthood,  persons 
filling  the  higher  offices  of  the  state.  3.  The  inferior  clergy, 
lawyers,  and  students.  4.  The  merchants  and  the  citizens 
of  great  towns.  5.  The  seamen  and  population  engaged 
in  agriculture. 

The  Danes  bave  regular  and  well  formed  features;  fre- 
quently fair  or  brownish  hair,  blue  eyes,  and  a  body  capable 
of  sustaining  great  fatigue.  The  women  are  of  a  more 
delicate  frame,  with  a  dazzling  white  complexion,  but  their 
features  possessing  little  animation,  and  subject  to  early 
decay. 

The  nobility  formerly  resided  on  their  own  estates,  living 
independent  lives,  with  great  magnificence  and  hospitality, 
and  when  the  states  were  convened,  meeting  the  king 
with  retinues  both  numerous  and  superb.  But  their  con- 
dition became  entirely  changed  when  the  king  assumed 
absolute  8 way. ^  Then  they  became  impoverished  by  exor- 
bitant taxes,  so  that  many  of  them  often  found  it  difficult 
to  procure  the  means  of  subsistence.  The  consequence 
was,  that  if  they  lacked  the  interest  at  court  to  obtain  a 
civil  or  military  appointment,  they  lived  obscurely  in  their 
half  ruined  palaces,  sheltering  them  from  the  exactions  of 
collectors  by  all  the  industry,  influence  and  address  they 
were  master  of.  Compelled  to  live  in  this  manner,  they 
could  not  expect  to  inherit  the  spirit  and  virtues  of  their 
ancestors.  They  would  naturally  become  servile,  indolent, 
ostentatious,  extravagant,  and  oppressive. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  possibly  the  humidity  of  the 
atmosphere,^  and  the  quantity  of  salted  meat  and  fish  used 
by  the  Danes,  may  have  contributed  to  render  their  cha- 
racter dull,  patient,  and  difficult  to  move.     The  portrait  of 


*  BelVs  Geography,  r,  137.     *  TrawU  through  Europe,  in,  215. 
Bran,  viii,  577. 


""MaZte 


168 


IIISTUIIY  OF  ("IVILlZA'noN. 


EUUOPK~lTS  SOCIETI. 


IGD 


the  Dane  has  been  thus  given:  "He  is  bravo,  but  pacific; 
possessed  of  little  enterprise,  but  laborious  and  persevering, 
He  is  diffident,  but  proud;  hospitable,  but  not  officious; 
cheerful  and  open  with  his  countrymen,  but  somewhat 
cold  and  ceremonious  towards  strangers;  loving  his  ease 
more  than  show;  more  economical  than  industrious;  some- 
times from  vanity,  and  sometimes  from  laziness,  an  imi- 
tator of  others;  a  judicious  observer,  a  profound  thinker, 
but  slow  and  minute;  endowed  with  an  imagination  more 
strong  than  rich;  constant,  romantic,  and  jealous  in  his 
aflections;  capable  of  great  enthusiasm,  but  rarely  of  those 
flashes  of  intellect,  or  sallies  of  wit,  which,  by  their  unex- 
pectedness, demand  and  obtain  victory  and  applause; 
strongly  attached  to  his  native  soil,  and  to  the  interests  of 
his  country,  but  caring  little  about  national  glory ;  accus- 
tomed to  the  calm  of  monarchy,  but  the  enemy  of  slavery 
and  arbitrary  power." 

Extravagance  of  every  kind  is  still  a  very  general  dispo- 
sition of  the  Danes.  It  displays  itself  in  various  w^ays. 
The  country  seats  of  the  nobility  still  retain  a  portion  of 
their  ancient  splendor,  although  with  a  great  declension  of 
their  former  magnificence.  There  are  still  many  families 
exhibiting  much  of  elegance  and  refinement. 

Danish  extravagance  is  very  likely  to  manifest  itself  in 
sumptuous  burials  and  splendid  monuments.  It  is  quite 
common  to  keep  the  corpse  of  a  person  of  quality  in  a 
vault,^  or  in  the  chancel  of  some  church,  for  several  years 
till  a  fit  opportunity  presents  itself  for  celebrating  the 
funeral  obsequies  with  great  magnificence. 

To  the  eyes  of  the  traveler,  Dr.  Clarke,  a  journey  from 
London  to  Copenhagen  might  exhibit  the  retrocession  of  a 
century;  everything  being  found,  in  the  latter  city,^  as  it 
existed  in  the  former  a  hundred  years  before.  And  this 
observation  he  extends  not  only  to  the  amusements,  the 
dress  and  the  manners  of  the  people,  but  to  the  general 

^BdVs  Oeography,  i,  137.    =*  Clarke's  Travels  in  Scandinama,  i,  82. 


P#i 


state  of  everything  connected  with  Danish  society.  In 
literature,  neither  zeal  nor  industry  is  wanted  ;  but,  com- 
pared with  the  rest  of  Europe,  the  Danes  are  always  be- 
hind in  the  progress  of  science. 

Sweden  is  thinly  peopled.  The  Swedish  monarch,  it 
has  been  said,  should  be  styled  the  lord  of  the  woods, 
because  of  the  interminable  forests  that  are  spread  over 
his  domain.  The  woods  having  no  undergrowth,  the  eye 
is  etiabled  to  penetrate  into  the  depth  of  shade,  and  in  the 
distance  strange  forms  appear  visible,^  which  might  be 
taken  for  supernatural  appearances,  and  thus  give  origin 
to  stories  of  ghosts,  goblins  and  demons  dimly  passing  in 
the  thickest  gloom  of  the  wilderness. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  south  and  the  north  of  Sweden 
are  described  as  difiering  from  each  other.^  In  the  south 
is  an  admixture  of  the  people  of  other  nations;  but  in  the 
north  the  inhabitants  are  more  strictly  Swedes.  They  are 
the  descendants  of  a  Germano-Celtic  tribe,  and  are  related 
to  the  !N'ormans  and  Danes. 

The  change  of  the  seasons  varies  much  the  amusements 
and  occupations  of  the  people.  During  summer  those  pos- 
sessed of  fortune  quit  the  town  and  retire  into  the  country, 
where  they  have  houses  fitted  up  in  a  style  of  great  mag- 
nificence and  luxury.^  There  the  ceremonies  and  stifthess 
that  prevail  at  town  entertainments  are,  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, laid  aside.  The  merchants  are  the  richest  class  of 
society,  and  they  live  in  the  most  unrestrained  manner,  so 
far  as  etiquette  is  concerned,  their  houses  being  the  most 
agreeable  and  the  best  maintained.  The  nobility  find  it  im- 
possible wholly  to  divest  themselves  of  that  formiality  which 
'seems  to  be  a  part  of  their  inheritance,  and  consequently 
are  less  fitted  for  enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the  country. 

The  Swedes  have  no  horse-racing,  or  hunting,  or  hawk- 
ing. They  have  sometimes  carriage  races  and  boat  races, 
called  regattas,  but  their  great  social  occupation  is  found 


'  Clnrke's  Scandinavia,  r,  112.    "^  Idem,  209.    ^AcerU,  i,  45. 


VI] 


22 


170 


IIlSTOllY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


in  the  plajiiig  of  cards  and  other  games  of  hazard.  Both 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  old  and  young,  dream  of  no  other 
enjoyment  than  this.  In  all  their  social  gatherings  this 
game  occupies  a  prominent  position.  Balls  are  also  in- 
cluded among  the  winter  amusements.  These  are  fre- 
quented only  hy  people  of  fashion.  But  there  are  also  side 
apartments  for  card-players. 

The  Swedish  ladies  are  handsome.^  Their  countenances 
express  tranquillity  and  compoyuir  of  mind,  and  indicate 
nothing  of  that  passion  and  fire  visible  in  the  features  of  the 
French  and  Italian  ladies.  They  pass  much  of  their  time 
alone  or  amongst  themselves,  and  hence  when  in  company 
with  the  other  sex,  they  manifest  a  less  happy  art  of  sup- 
porting conversation  with  vivacity  than  the  French  and 
Italian  ladies.  They  pay  great  attention  to  dress,  endea- 
voring to  outshine  their  rivals  in  elegance  and  splendor. 
They  are  fond  of  admiration  and  praise,  and  desire  public 
notice  and  distinction.  Not  only  their  passions  but  their 
sentiments  of  friendship  and  attachment  are  less  strong 
than  in  those  of  warmer  climates. 

But  this  coldness  of  temperament  on  the  part  of  females 
is  assigned  as  the  cause  of  excessive  licentiousness  in  the 
inferior  orders.  They  think  they  can  never  give  enough, 
because  they  feel  so  little  in  bestowing  the  greatest  favors.^ 
There  are  no  women  of  the  town  in  Stockholm,  but  there 
are  kept  mistresses  who  maintain  a  rank  in  society  much 
above  their  condition  in  life.  The  only  passport  to  their 
favors  is  through  an  introduction,  and  a  formal  courtnliip. 
They  exact  from  their  favorites  that  attention  aiid  respect 
in  public  that  appears  extraordinary  to  a  foreigner.  Even 
officers  of  distinction  have  been  known  in  public  places  to 
bow  and  kiss  their  hands  to  women  of  loose  conduct  and 
character. 

The  Swedes  during  the  day  are  occupied  with  their 
business,  and  their  evenings  they  generally  spend  at  cards, 


*  Aeerln,  r,  68.    '^  Idmi  64. 


J 


i 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


171 


and  more  rarely  in  company  with  the  ladies.  There  is  a 
want  of  music  and  enlivening  conversation  in  Swedish 
society.  There  are  no  friendly  dinners  where  a  few  meet 
to  enjoy  each  other's  society.  The  Swedish  dinner  parties 
are  formal  and  expensive.  The  company  are  often 
strangers  to  each  other.  Before  sitting  down  to  dinner  they 
visit  a  side  table  where  they  partake  of  bread  and  butter,^ 
cheese  and  pickled  salmon,  washed  down  with  brandy. 
After  this,  the  guests  arrange  themselves  about  the  dinner 
table,  upon  which  all  the  dishes  are  put  at  once,  and  no 
one  is  allowed  to  ask  for  what  he  Ukes  best,  but  must  wait 
his  turn,  the  dishes  being  handed  round  in  regular  succes- 
sion. No  wine  is  drank,  and  immediately  after  dinner  the 
guests  adjourn  to  the  drawing  room,  where  the  company, 
after  thanking  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  house  with  a 
polite  and  rather  ceremonious  bow  for  their  good  cheer, 
are  regaled  with  tea  and  coffee. 

The  Swedish  court  intrenches  itself  behind  a  vast  many 
forms  and  ceremonies,  but  this  is  within  what  may  be 
called  its  own  precincts.  The  king  and  princes,  neverthe- 
less, mix  very  familiarly  with  the  people.  Although 
the  kingly  dinners  are  very  formal,  yet  the  private  suppers 
are  entirely  the  reverse.  At  these  no  formality  is  observed 
even  towards  the  royal  family. 

There  are  few  countries  in  Europe  where  the  elements 
of  knowledge  are  so  universally  diffused  among  all  classes 
of  people  as  in  Sweden.-  All  the  people  in  towns,  vil- 
lages, and  hamlets,  without  exception,  are  taught  to  read. 
The  peasantry  are  a  frank,  open,  kind-hearted,  gay,  hospi- 
table, hardy,  and  spirited  people.  There  seems  to  be  a 
happy  union  of  genius,  bravery,  and  natural  probity  of 
disposition.  They  are  called  by  many  the  gascons  of 
Scandinavia.  Although  poor,  they  feel  no  pressing  wants 
that  are  not  gratified.^  Besides  bread  and  milk,  they  have 
in  their  stores  salted  or  smoked  meat,  as  well  as  fish,  and 


'  AcerH,  i,  67.    ' Idim,  l:]G.    '  Idem,  IBO. 


172 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


II 


sometimes  even  beer  and  brandy.  Both  they,  and  their 
children  are  well  fed.  Their  houses  and  manner  of  clothing 
protect  them  from  the  severity  of  the  cold.  Their  firesides 
are  always  well  provided  with  wood,  and  their  apartments 
warm  and  comfortable.  The  traits  of  innocence,  simplicity, 
and  contentment  which  light  up  the  countenances  of  the 
inmates  of  the  cabin,  are  described  to  be  such  as  moves  the 
sensibility,  and  interests  the  feelings  of  a  stranger.^ 

There  is  a  custom  in  the  country  of  strewing  the  floors 
of  their  apartments  with  sprigs  of  juniper,  and  upon  this 
is  often  scattered  a  considerable  quantity  of  sand,  a  prac- 
tice once  common  in  the  presence  chambers  of  sovereigns. 
It  conduces  to  uncleanliness,  and  the  reek  of  the  decaying 
vegetables  is  not  wholesome.^ 

The  peasants,  after  laying  the  wooden  planks  upon  their 
dwellings,  often  cover  them  with  fresh  turf,  from  which 
grass  springs,  giving  in  summer,  the  cottages  the  appear- 
ance of  the  surface  of  a  meadow.  This  preserves  the 
interior  from  the  penetrating  moisture  of  melting  snow. 

The  Swedish  peasants  attain  generally,  to  a  healthy 
maturity,  and  appear  characterized  by  a  sturdiness  of  form 
and  the  most  athletic  stature,  many  of  them  seeming  to 
belong  to  a  race  of  giants,  possessing  nerves  of  iron. 
There  is  a  kind  of  family  likeness  very  generally  prevail- 
ing. The  men  have  a  long  and  pale  face,  rather  bony, 
with  a  high  forehead  and  long  chin ;  a  peculiar  expression 
about  the  eyes,  and  stout  muscular  limbs. 

Marriages  in  Sweden  are  governed  by  the  will  of  the 
parents,  and  are  founded  upon  interest.  As  the  parents 
retain  their  property  until  death,  young  people  are  in  no 
condition  to  marry  until  they  are  thirty  or  more  years  of 
age,  unless  they  obtain  some  office  or  employment. 

In  Sweden  is  still  preserved  the  old  custom  of  suspend- 
ing garlands  upon  upright  poles,  adorned  like  the  May- 
poles in  England.     Around  these,  and  through  the  arch, 


^  Acefbi,  I,  181.    ^  Clarke's  Scandinana,  1:J4. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


173 


''IP 


\ 


a  new  married  couple,^  followed  by  the  bridemaids  and 
friends  of  the  bridegroom,  danced,  a  great  concourse  of 
people  joining  in  the  festivities. 

There  is  probably  no  country  in  Scandinavia,  that  pos- 
sesses greater  interest  than  Norway.  This  interest  is  de- 
rived : 

First.  From  the  features  of  the  country.  There,  in  the 
eloquent  words  of  modern  traveler,^  are  "  forests,  whose 
vastness  and  shade,  and  solitude  and  silence,  banish  in  an 
instant  from  the  mind,  all  associations  with  song  of  bird, 
and  bower,  and  gay  sylvan  scene ;  lakes,  whose  deep  se- 
clusion put  to  flight  images  of  mere  grace  and  beauty; 
valleys,  which,  from  their  depth  and  gloom,  we  might 
fancy  to  be  the  avenues  to  abodes  of  a  more  mysterious 
creation  ;  mountains,  whose  dim,  and  rugged,  and  gigantic 
forms,  seem  like  the  images  of  a  world  that  we  might 
dream  of,  but  never  behold."  Can  it  be  a  subject  of 
wonder,  that  scenery  like  this  should  nurture  human  spirits 
and  forms,  that  were  destined  to  exert  no  unimportant 
influence  in  the  aftairs  of  men  ? 

Second.  During  the  early  periods  of  European  history 
the  hardy  I^orman  played  a  very  conspicuous  part,  establish- 
ing his  dominion  in  Sicily  and  southern  Italy,  wrenching 
the  province  of  ISTormandy  from  France,  and  ruling  over 
it  for  centuries,  and  ultimately  establishing  his  dominion 
in  the  British  isles.  The  ancestry  of  England  came  from 
the  shores  of  Norway. 

Third.  While  in  all  Southern  and  Central  Europe  the 
feudal  system  became  established,  and  was  the  all  fruitful 
source  of  domestic,  governmental,  and  social  institutions, 
it  never  prevailed  in  Norway.  Although  the  Normans 
were  instrumental  in  planting  it  in  England,  yet  they 
brought  it  from  Normandy  and  not  from  Norway. 


^Clarke's  Scandimfwr,  UG.    ^Conway's  Travels  in  Norirayy  Siteden.and 
Denmark,  84. 


174 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Fourth.  Another  feature  disclosedbythe  jurisprudence  of 
Norway,  and  which  gives  interest  to  the  development  of 
the  social  element,  is  the  equal  division  of  the  property  of 
the  parent,  at  his  death,  among  all  the  children.^  This 
principle  has  prevailed  there  for  more  than  a  thousand 
years,  and  yet  it  has  not  had  the  effect  of  reducing  the 
landed  estates  below  what  is  necessary  to  support  a  ftxmily. 
Whenever  such  a  reduction  is  threatened,  a  portion  of  the 
heirs  sell  out  to  others,  or  the  whole  is  sold,  and  the  pro- 
ceeds of  the  sale  equally  divided.  Tlie  effect  of  this 
equality  of  right  to  inherit,  is  to  bring  about  great  equality 
in  the  condition  of  the  people. 

Norway  has  three  classes  of  population,  when  considered 
in  reference  to  tlieir  employment. 

First.  The  strand-sitters,  or  sea-faring  peasantry,  occu- 
pying the  islands,  and  the  coast  side  of  all  the  fiords, 
extending  sometimes  a  hundred  miles  into  the  interior.^ 
They  have  small  farms,  but  their  chief  subsistence  depends 
on  fishing. 

Second.  The  bonder,  or  agricultural  peasantry,  consti- 
tuting the  kernel  of  the  nation,  each  being  the  pro- 
prietor of  his  own  farm,  and  occupying  the  country  from 
the  shore  side  to  the  hill  foot,  and  up  every  valley  or  glen, 
as  far  as  as  corn  will  grow.^  The  Norwegian  yeomanry 
are  as  fine  as  any  in  Europe,  and  in  as  happy  a  condition. 
It  is  a  body  of  small  landed  proprietors,  each  with  his 
thirty  or  forty  acres.  They  are  strong,  athletic  men,  build- 
ing their  own  houses,  making  their  own  agricultural 
implements,  and  rearing  up  their  own  families. 

Third.  The  Fjelde  bonder,  who  live  on  the  mountains  or 
uplands  of  Norway,  who  also  possess  land  and  have  houses, 
although  small,  and  who  live  by  the  produce  of  cattle,  and 
the  felling  of  timber,  and  the  selling  of  game.  They  live 
a  hard  and  laborious  life,  and  have  a  strong  frame  of  body, 
and  an  active  character.     They  are  rough  and  ready,  re- 


EUKOPE  — ITS  SOC'IKrV. 


175 


taiuing  the  dress,  manners,  character  and  athletic  forms 
which  we  attribute  to  the  men  of  ancient  times.  Each 
district  and  valley  has  its  peculiarity  of  costume,  pronun- 
ciation,^ and  even  character.  Intermarriages  between 
those  of  diflerent  districts  or  valleys  are  rare,  and  lines  of 
descent  can  be  traced  far  backward. 

There  are  no  privileged  classes  in  Norway.  Nor  are 
there  any  created  by  wealth.  And  yet  there  are  distinc- 
tions in  society.  These  grow  out  of  the  fact  that  indivi- 
duals naturally  form  social  relations  with  those  most  like 
themselves."  There  is  here  no  mixture  of  persons  of  incon- 
gruous stations,  habits,  and  education.  What  are  termed 
people  of  condition  compose  one  class,  which  is  made  up 
of  the  cultivated  part  of  the  community,  the  clergy,  public 
functionaries,  half  pay  officers,  and  the  educated.  But  the 
tradesmen  and  dealers  form  a  highly  respectable  class, 
whose  dress,  appearance  and  deportment,  are  described  as 
fully  equal  to  the  other.  Its  members  have  leisure,  enjoy 
social  intercourse,^  and  are  polished  in  their  manners.  In 
Norway,  good  manners  go  deeper  down  through  society 
than  in  other  countries. 

The  most  common  national  dances  of  Norway  are  called 
the  hailing  and  the  polsk ;  the  first  where  the  performer 
stands  upon  his  head  and  kicks  his  heels  about  in  the  air,'* 
the  dance  of  Ilippoclides,  the  Athenian,  when  contending 
with  other  rivals  for  the  daughter  of  Clisthenes.  The 
other  also  answers  to  the  description  of  an  Attic  dance  per- 
formed to  the  Emineleia.^ 

Many  of  the  early  customs  of  England  are  to  be  found 
in  Norway,  reminding  the  Englishman  of  the  manners  of 
his  ancestors.  Among  these  are  "  old  ballads  pasted  on  the 
wall,  story  books  of  witches  and  giants,  huge  heavy  carved 
work  upon  the  cupboards  and  furniture,  rows  of  shining 
pewter  plates  and   earthenware,   brown  mugs   for   beer, 


'  LainfjH  Norway.  1^2.    ^  Mem,  255.    '  Mem ,  258. 


'  Laing's  Ni^nray,  260. 
<inn,  II,  198    "Miiii,^^^. 


'riihrn,  139.    Uih?n,  130.    '  Clark e\H  Scmidiii- 


j4- 


170 


lllSTOitV  UF  CIVILIZATIUIS. 


>n 


and  bogs  puddings  and  sausages  dangling  from  tlie  roof. 
The  Norwegians  also  drink  toasts  with  solemnity,  mingling 
with  them  songs  as  did  the  ancestors  of  the  old  Teutonic 
tribes. 

There  is  a  great  equality  of  manners  among  all  ranks, 
and  they  are  habitually  good  among  the  lower  ranks. 
On  getting  up  from  table  each  person  goes  round  the 
whole  company,  and  shakes  hands  with  every  one,  with 
the  complimentary  phrase  "  tak  for  mad,"  thanks  for  the 
meal ;  or  "  well  bekomme,"  may  it  do  you  good.^  Even  the 
husband  and  wife  unite  in  this,  and  in  a  large  party  it 
presents  the  appearance  of  a  dance  around  the  table,  every 
one  going  round  to  pay  the  compliment.  Even  a  laborer 
never  passes  another  at  work,  or  at  his  meal,  without  a 
complimentary  expression  wishing  him  luck  in  the  one,  or 
good  from  the  other. 

The  laboring  class  of  people  have  meat  at  least  twice  a 
week  in  their  families.  They  have  four  regular  meals  a  day 
with  two  drams.  Potato  brandy  is  made  at  every  farm 
house,  and  is  therefore  cheap  and  very  universally  drank ;  ^ 
and  yet  intoxication  is  not  common  under  circumstances  and 
in  situations  in  which  sobriety  is  specially  required.  Their 
potations  are  taken  mostly  at  weddings,  baptisms,  burials, 
Christmas,  hay  and  corn  harvest  homes,  and  other  festivals. 

A  check  upon  improvident  marriages  is  found  in  the  fact 
that  the  Lutheran  church  includes  two  ceremonies,  the 
betrothal  and  tlie  final  ceremony.  The  one  precedes  the 
other  for  one,  two,  and  often  for  several  years."*  Both  in 
law,  and  in  society,  the  betrothed  parties  have  a  distinct 
and  acknowledged  status.  This  custom,  so  well  established, 
interposes  a  seasonable  pause  before  the  expenses  of  a  house 
and  family  are  entered  upon.  It  is  a  probationary  period, 
and  one  allowing  character  to  develop  itself;  and  idle  and 
drunken  habits,  if  such  exist,  to  mature  and  show  them- 
selves in  time  to  prevent  the  final  and  irreparable  step. 


Aii/ig's  Nonmy,  385.    ^  Idem,  108.    ^Idcm,  100.    *  Man,  100. 


I 

\ 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


177 


This  custom  of  betrothal  had  its  origin  long  before  the 
introduction  of  Christianity,  and  at  a  period  wlien  the  young 
men  of  Norway  were  so  frequently  absent  for  considerable 
periods  of  time  on  piratical  expeditions  to  distant  countries. 

The  household  ways  of  the  Norwegian  gentry  strongly 
remind  one  of  the  olden  times  of  England.  The  family 
room  is  like  the  old  English  manor-house  of  the  days  of 
Queen  Elizabeth.  Leaves  fresh  and  bright  green  are 
sprinkled  upon  the  floor.^  An  eight-day  clock  stands  in 
one  corner,  a  cupboard  graces  another.  Around  the  room 
are  ranged  benches  and  straight-backed  wooden  chairs. 
All  the  family  occupations  are  going  on.  Li  one  corner 
the  carding  of  wool  or  flax  is  in  progress.  Two  or  three 
spiiuiing  wheels  are  lifting  up  their  music  near  the  stove. 
To  diversify  the  scene  a  young  lady  takes  her  guitar  to 
play  and  sing,  or  gallopades  across  the  room  with  a  sister. 
The  breakfast  is  laid  out  on  a  tray  at  one  end  of  the  room, 
which  is  spacious  and  lighted  from  both  sides.  This  is  the 
breakfast  of  old  times  in  England,  consisting  of  slices  of 
bread  and  butter,  smoked  meat,  sausages,  dried  fish,  ale 
and  French  or  Norwegian  brandy,  the  coffee  having  been 
taken  an  hour  or  two  before.  This  meal  is  taken  while 
standing  or  walking,  and  the  walking  and  talking,  and 
giving  orders  to  the  servants,  and  waltzing  of  children, 
presents  altogether  a  scene  of  great  life  and  activity. 

The  people  have  not  here  two  sets  of  manners,  the  one  for 
home,  the  other  for  company.^  The  manners  are  habitually 
good,  even  among  the  lower  ranks.  Owing  to  the  general 
diffusion  of  property,  there  is  an  uncommon  equality  of 
manners  among  all  ranks  ;  and  the  general  standard  is  not 
low.  In  the  secluded  glens  of  Norway  have  been  preserved 
many  of  the  usages  and  forms  of  politeness  which  once 
prevailed  generally  in  the  good  society  of  ancient  Europe. 
The  children  seem,  from  the  first,  to  be  treated  with  con- 
sideration and  respect  like  grown  persons.     They  are  never- 


*  Laing's  Noricay,  106.    "  Idem,  107, 108. 
VI]  23 


178 


HISTOEV  OF  CIV1I.IZA nOiN. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


179 


theless  wild,  romping,  joyous  creatures,  and  not  diminutive 
old  men  or  prim  old  maids.  The  women  of  Norway  have 
much  to  do  with  the  real  business  of  life,  and  with  those 
concerns  which  require  mental  exertion  and  talent. 

The  Christmas,  or  Yule,  as  it  is  there  called,  is  kept  in 
great  style  for  fourteen  days,  the  time  being  passed  in 
feasting  and  merriment,  and  in  giving  and  receiving  enter- 
tainment. In  their  party  assemblages  the  company  walk 
about  the  room  and  converse,  few  hackneyed  subjects  being 
introduced,  wind  and  weather  being  allowed  to  shift  for 
themselves,  everybody  seeming  to  have  something  to  say, 
there  being  a  total  absence  of  all  pretense  in  their  character, 
no  one  appearing  to  desire  to  seem  otherwise  than  they 

naturally  are. 

The  husbandman  in  Norway  dwells  in  the  midst  of  his 
lands,  the  houses  being  remarkably  good  and  clean.  The 
floors  of  the  rooms,  at  least  once  a  week,  are  strewed  over 
with  the  green  tops  of  the  fir  or  juniper.^  Their  use  is  the 
same  as  that  of  yellow  sand  which  is  of  more  modern  use. 
At  funerals,  the  road  into  the  church  yard  and  to  the  grave 
is  also  strewed  with  the  same  green  sprigs. 

The  Norwegians  drink  toasts  with  the  solemnities  of  a 
public  ceremony ,2  mingling  with  them  songs,  as  was  the 
custom  among  the  difl:erent  branches  of  the  Teutonic 
tribes.  At  the  conclusion  of  dinner,  there  is  no  separation 
of  the  two  sexes,  as  in  England,  but  both  men  and  w^omen 
retire  together.  The  old  custom  that  prevailed  in  Greece, 
and  also  among  the  Goths  and  Getse,  of  scattering  flow^ers 
upon  the  tombs,  prevails  also  in  Norway.^ 

In  the  mountainous  parts  of  Norway,  where  the  powers 
of  nature  are  the  most  frequently  displayed,  are  a  number 
of  superstitious  beliefs.^  There  is  the  supernatural  being, 
Nipen,  whose  power  is  supposed  to  be  general  and  control- 
ling, and  exercised  sometimes  for  good,  and  at  others,  for 


^Laing's  Nortcay,  61.    ""  Clarke's  Sc(m(Unama/SS5.    '/(Z«m,  445.    *Nor- 
way,  i^toeden,  and  Denmark,  219. 


evil.  Next  in  rank  are  the  local  intelligences,  which  are 
supposed  to  preside  over  different  parts  of  the  surface  of 
the  country,  as  the  mountain  demon,  the  wood  demon,  the 
river  demon,  whose  power  also  extends  over  lakes.  The 
demon  in  the  Norwegian  mountains  is  single  and  invisible. 
Each  river  has  not  its  distinct  demon,  but  one  is  supposed 
to  preside  over  all.  He,  also,  like  the  mountain  demon, 
is  invisible,  excepting  only  his  hand.  The  wood  demon 
differs  from  all  the  others,  in  being  supposed  to  be  visible. 
On  midsummer  eve,  in  order  to  allow  the  wood  demon  to 
begin  the  operations  of  the  following  year,^  every  wood- 
man strikes  his  axe  into  a  tree,  and  there  leaves  it,  that 
he  may,  if  he  pleases,  fell  one  of  the  trees.  He  is  supposed 
to  have  great  skill  in  music,  and  by  means  of  it,  to  entice 
woinen  into  the  forest.  Many  also  believe  in  a  mine 
demon,  whose  habitation  is  underground.  There  is  also 
a  very  general  belief  in  a  race  called  th  e  subterraneous 
people,  who  live  under  the  earth,  but  occasionally  appear- 
ing above  it.  This  race  seems  allied  to  the  ancient  race  of 
magicians,  as  they  have  the  power  of  assuming  any  form, 
and  also  of  changing  the  form,  either  of  animate  or  inani- 
mate beings,  and  of  exercising  power  by  means  of  magic. 

The  Scandinavian  peoples,  thus  far  briefly  alluded  to,  are 
obviously  all  cognate  races  and  stems  of  the  old  Indo-Ger- 
man  stock.  But  there  are  two  other  peoples  dwelling  in 
the  northern  and  eastern  parts  of  this  interesting  region  of 
country,  who,  in  their  physical  structure,  language,  and 
social  habits,  fully  proclaim  their  derivation  from  other 
and  remote  stocks.  These  are  the  inhabitants  of  Lapland 
and  Finland,  who  are  regarded  as  the  aborigines  of  the 
country,  as  having  once  extended  considerably  south  of 
their  present  habitations,  but  as  having  been,  previous  to 
the  historic  period,  driven  north  and  east  by  the  stronger 
Indo-German.     These,  although  di fieri ng  from  each  other 


^Norway,  SweiJen,  and  Denmark.  232. 


180 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


181 


in  stature,  pliysiognoiny  and  manners,  are  yet  regarded  as 
kindred  nations,  as  beiog  branches  of  the  Jotun  race,  who 
originally  inhabited  all  Scandinavia,  and  stretched  thence 
eastward  toward  the  Uralian  chain  of  mountains.^ 

The  Laplanders  are  regarded  as  probably  the  earliest  in- 
habitants of  Sweden  and  Norway,  and  the  first  adventurers 
from  Scythia,  being  driven  from  the  southern  parts  of 
Scandinavia  into  the  more  dismal  regions  lying  towards  the 
frozen  ocean  by  subsequent  hordes  seeking  for  room  and 
subsistence.^  They  are  described  as  short  in  stature,  of  a 
swarthy  and  dark  complexion,  the  hair  black  and  short,  the 
mouth  wide,  the  cheeks  hollow,  the  chin  somewhat  long 
and  pointed,  the  eyes  weak  and  watery,  proceeding  proba- 
bly from  long  exposures  to  smoke  and  snows.^  They  are  a 
very  hardy  race,  consuming  large  quantities  of  train  oil  and 
accustomed  to  feats  of  activity  and  the  practice  of  agility 
from  childhood.  He  goes  so  rapidly  on  the  snow-shoe  or 
skate  tliat  the  air  whistles  in  his  ears,  and  his  hair  becomes 
erect  with  the  motion,  and  yet  if  his  cap  fall,  or  anything 
lies  in  his  way  he  can  pick  it  up  without  stopping  his 
course.*  Their  small  stature  very  much  favors  their  great 
agility. 

The  dress  of  the  men  consists  of  a  cap  made  of  kersey 
cloth,  and  resembling  a  sugar  loaf  worn  upon  the  head,  a 
tunic,  or  close  garment,  called  a  tock,  made  of  sheep's  skin, 
the  wool  being  on  and  the  wooly  side  inwards,  an  upper 
coat  made  of  coarse  cloth  or  skin  of  the  reindeer,  a  sort  of 
pantaloons  made  of  kersey  or  leather,  and  having  a  close 
fit;  shoes  having  but  one  sole  and  made  of  deerskin,  with 
the  hair  on,  all  the  vacant  space  being  filled  with  straw  and 
rushes.     The  dress  of  the  women  is  very  similar. 

The  occupations  of  the  sexes  in  Lapland  are  somewhat 
reversed  to  those  of  other  countries.  All  the  economy  of 
the  house  in  cooking  and  other  matters  belongs  to  the  men, 


4 


while  the  manufacture  of  all  articles  of  dress  and  of  quite 
a  proportion  of  utensils  of  wood  is  the  work  of  the  women.^ 
They  are  the  best  sculptures  of  Lapland. 

The  huts  of  the  maritime  Laplanders  are  constructed 
with  four  posts  bent  together  in  an  oval  form,  with  a  small 
door,  and  an  opening  in  the  roof  to  let  out  the  smoke.^ 
The  roof  is  made  of  birch  bark  covered  with  sods.  The  in- 
terior is  divided  into  compartments,  covered  with  boughs  of 
trees,  and  these  spread  with  the  skin  of  the  reindeer.  The 
sheep  and  cattle  have  a  stall  near  the  entrance  of  the  hut  to 
which  they  repair  by  the  same  door  as  the  rest  of  the  family.^ 

The  winter  tent  of  the  mountain  Laplander  difters  but 
little  from  the  hut.  The  summer  tent  resembles  the  winter 
except  that  the  covering  is  of  canvass  cloth,  and  it  lacks 
the  wall  of  snow  by  which  the  former  is  surrounded. 

The  bed  upon  which  the  Laplander  reposes  is  made  of 
the  skins  of  reindeer  spread  over  branches  of  trees,  his 
outer  coat  serving  as  a  pillow,  and  a  prepared  sheep  skin, 
the  woolly  side  inwards,  as  a  blanket,*  over  which  is  laid 
a  woolen  rug.  The  beds  are  separated  by  a  log  of  wood 
on  each  side. 

The  mountain  Laplander  lives  the  life  of  a  !N"omad, 
wandering  about,^  and  pitching  his  tent  wherever  circum- 
stances favor  it.  His  principal  article  of  food  is  venison, 
while  that  of  the  maritime  is  beef  and  mutton,  both  also 
subsisting  on  bears,  wolves  and  foxes,  otters,  seals,  and  all 
animals  except  swine.^  They  make  little  use  of  bread,  but 
preserve  carefully  the  milk  of  the  reindeer,  making  out  of 
it  cheese  and  butter,  and  keeping  preparations  of  it  frozen. 
They  also  make  use  of  train  oil,  and  enjoy  as  luxuries 
tobacco  and  brandy. 

The  maritime  Laplanders  change  their  habitation  twice  a 
year  in  spring  and  autumn,  leaving  their  huts  standing  until 
their  return,  but  the  mountain  Laplander   is   continually 


It 


^Prichard,  Physical  nistory,  in,  274,  298.    '' Arn'h'CH  Travels,  ii,  14C. 
"/dm,  151.    *Jc?«w,  154. 


^AcerbVs  Travels,u,\"i^-   "" Idem,  ill.    ^Idem,!!^.    *  Idem,  17d.    "Idem, 
190.    "Jrfm,  186. 


182 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


ETTROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


183 


wandering  from  place  to  place.  Their  more  general  move- 
ment is  towards  the  sea  coast  in  mid-summer,  and  a  return 
to  the  mountains  on  the  approach  of  autumn. 

When  a  Laplander  inclines  to  marry  he  communicates  his 
wish  to  his  own  flimily/  and  they  all  repair  in  a  body  to 
the  dwelling  of  the  parents  of  the  girl,  taking  with  them  a 
small  present  for  her  and  a  quantity  of  brandy  to  drink. 
Ariving  at  the  door  they  enter  and  the  principal  spokesman 
offers  a  bumper  of  brandy  to  the  girl's  father,  who  if  he 
accepts  it,  shows  that  he  approves  of  the  match.  The 
brandy  is  then  handed  round,  the  chief  spokesman  makes 
a  speech,  and  the  young  aspirant  has  an  opportunity  of  pres- 
sing his  suit.  The  parents  of  the  girl  at  length  signify 
their  full  assent,  the  suitor  offers  the  maiden  his  present, 
and  all  the  preliminaries  are  arranged.  Should  the  parents 
of  the  girl  afterwards  recede,  then  they  nmst  pay  all  the 
expenses,  even  the  brandy  drank  at  the  first  visit. 

At  the  nuptials  the  bride  is  dressed  in  her  gala  habit. 
These  are  celebrated  in  a  frugal  manner,  and  presents  are 
made  to  the  bride.  The  bridegroom  generally  remains 
with  the  parents  of  his  bride  during  one  year  after  mar- 
riage, after  which,  receiving  what  they  are  enabled  to  fur- 
nish towards  an  outfit,  he  takes  his  departure  to  try  his 
own  fortune  in  the  world. 

The  sports  and  amusements  of  the  Laplanders  consist  in 
various  exercises,  such  as  shooting  at  a  mark,  throwing  at 
a  mark  with  a  javelin  ;  leaping  over  a  stick  held  in  a  hori- 
zontal position  ;  fastening  their  hands  in  each  other's  belt; 
striving  to  raise  one  another  from  the  ground,  and  thus  to 
give  to  each  other  a  fall ;  and  wrestling.  They  have  no  par- 
ticular festivals,  no  games  of  cards,  but  they  do  play  the 
game  of  fox  and  geese.^  Even  music  and  dancing  are  un- 
known among  the  Laplanders. 

It  is  a  practice  among  the  Laplanders,  on  the  birth  of  a 
child,  to  assign  a  female  reindeer,  with  all  her  future  off- 


*ti 


spring,  as  a  provision  for  the  child  when  it  shall  grow  up, 
and  this  provision  the  child  is  always  entitled  to  whatever 
may  become  of  the  estate.* 

The  funerals,  since  the  conversion  of  the  Laplanders  to 
Christianity,  are  conducted  with  little  ceremony.  Previ- 
ously there  were  some  interesting  performances.  Such 
were  the  x>lacing  an  axe  with  a  tinder  box  by  the  side  of 
the  corpse,  if  a  man,  and  a  scissors  and  needle  if  a  woman. 
Also  a  quantity  of  provisions ;  also  for  the  space  of  three 
years  digging  holes  by  the  side  of  the  grave  and  depositing 
therein  tobacco,  or  something  that  the  deceased  was  fond- 
est of  when  living.^  All  this  was  upon  the  presumption 
that  they  were  assisting,  and  contributing  to  the  enjoy- 
ment of  their  friends  in  the  otlicr  world.  They  sup[)osed 
the  felicity  of  a  future  state  to  consist  in  feasting,  smoking 
tobacco,  drinking  brandy,  and  similar  amusements. 

The  magic  art  is  practiced  in  Lapland.  The  magician 
is  called  the  Noaaid,  who  has  his  runic  drum,  his  gauic 
flies,  and  his  juoige,  or  song  of  incantation.  The  first  has 
in  appearance,  the  head  of  a  common  drum,  the  wooden 
frame  of  which  is  hung  around  with  brass  rings,  so  close 
together  that  they  strike  and  rattle  upon  the  least  touch  of 
the  instrument.  Upon  the  skin  stretched  over  it,  certain 
characters  are  painted,  representing  the  old  Lapland  dei- 
ties,^ and  other  mystical  figures,  to  the  number  of  forty- 
five  symbols.  These  drums  are  of  the  more  value,  the 
greater  their  antiquity.  The  drum  is  consulted  by  placing 
a  ring,  used  for  this  purpose  only,  upon  it,  and  then  by  a 
smart  stroke,  shaking  or  driving  it  over  the  surface  from 
side  to  side,  which,  as  it  touches  certain  figures  of  good  or 
bad  omen,  admonishes  him  of  success  or  failure,  in  what 
he  was  about  to  undertake.  If  the  ring  move  according  to 
the  course  of  the  sun,  it  augurs  success;  if  contrary,  failure. 
Families  in  general,  possess  such  a  drum,  and  are  guided  by  it 
as  to  the  common  avocations,  as  hunting,  fishing,  or  the  like. 


AcerbVs  Travels  u,  284.    ^  Idem,  280. 


'  AcerWs  Travels,  ii.  293.    "  Idem  292,  293.    '  Idem,  307. 


184 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


185 


The  ganie  flies  are  evil  spirits,  under  the  control  of  the 
^N'oaaid,  transmitted  through  a  long  series  of  magicians, 
kept  in  a  box,  and  invisible  except  to  the  Noaaid.  When 
a  person  is  suspected  of  having  stolen  property,  the  l!^oaaid, 
pretending  first  to  have  discovered  his  face  figured  in  a 
dish  of  brandy,  threatens  to  let  loose  upon  him  a  swarm  of 
ffanic  flies  who  shall  continue  to  torment  him  until  he 
makes  restitution. 

The  juoige,  or  song  of  incantation,  is  another  instru- 
ment used  by  the  Noaaid  while  in  the  exercise  of  his 
magicial  function.^  It  is  the  most  hideous  kind  of  yelling 
that  can  be  conceived.  It  is  supposed  to  have  power  to 
drive  away  the  wolf,  and  tlius  to  protect  the  herd,  and  if 
the  former  be  within  hearin<^  it  is  not  wonderful  that  he 
should  be  frightened  away  by  the  noise. 

The  Finlander  is  described  as  having  "shorn  features 
long  dark  unbending  hair,  and  sallow  countenance;  eyes  ex- 
tending lengthways,  and  half  closed ;  a  peaked  nose,  fre- 
quently inclining  upwards,  but  always  pointed;^  sharp 
and  square  chin;  elevated  cheek  bones,  and  pinched 
mouth;  large,  high,  and  prominent  ears;  a  small  head; 
thin  scanty  eyebrows,  turned  upward  at  their  extremities, 
like  those  of  the  Chinese  ;  high  shoulders  ;  short  and  small 
fingers ;  knees  bent,  and  projecting  forwards."  ^  The  Finns 
have  quite  a  resemblance  to  the  Lapps,  but  are  not  so 
diminutive  in  stature.  They  are  regarded  by  some  as  a 
second  colony  of  Scythians  or  Tartars  who  settled  in 
Scandinavia,  the  first  being  the  Lapps.^ 

The  dress  of  the  Finns  very  much  resembles  that  of  the 
Lapps,  and  of  a  considerable  part  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Russia.  It  consists  of  a  jacket  or  coat  made  of  white 
sheepskin  leather,  which  is  dressed,  and  worn  with  the 
wool  inwards,  as  a  lining,  towards  the  body.  This  is 
fastened  by  a  sash  or  girdle  about  the  waist.*    Long  trou- 


T 


sers  or  pantaloons  reach  below  the  calf  of  the  leg,  and  are 
bound  about  the  instep.  The  feet  are  covered  either  with 
fur  boots  or  socks  made  of  skins,  over  which  are  worn 
sandals  made  of  the  bark  of  trees.  A  fur  cap  is  worn 
upon  the  head,  and,  what  is  very  common  among  Finns, 
Lapps  and  Eussians,  the  neck  and  often  the  bosom  is  bare 
in  extremely  cold  weather. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  north  have  many  more  wants 
than  those  of  the  south.  Their  necessities  for  activity  are, 
therefore,  greater,  and  from  thence  flow  many  little  diver- 
sities of  character  which  serve  to  distinguish  them  from 
those  of  the  south.  During  the  winter,  the  Finns  employ 
themselves  in  making  nets,  cutting  wood  and  transporting 
things  from  one  place  to  another.  Hunting  and  fishing 
are  also  among  their  winter  avocations.  In  their  manner 
of  hunting  the  seal  and  attacking  the  bear  they  show 
much  adroitness  and  courage.  Their  fishing  is  done  by 
hooks,  nets,  and  striking  a  heavy  blow  with  a  club  on  the 
ice  immediately  over  the  fish,  which  has  the  effect  of  so 
stunning  and  stupifying  the  fish  that  it  immediately  rises 
to  the  surface  and  is  seized  with  an  instrument  made  for 
the  purpose.^ 

Some  singular  social  habits  prevail  in  Finland.  One  is 
mentioned  by  the  traveler  Acerbi  as  prevailing  in  the  Ulea- 
boro".  It  is  there  a  custom,  as  soon  as  the  entertainment 
is  over,2  f^j.  ^H  the  ladies,  young  and  old,  who  wish  to 
testify  the  pleasure  they  have  enjoyed  in  your  company,  to 
give  you  a  slap  with  the  hand  upon  your  back,  when  you 
least  expect  it;  and  it  is  established  as  a  rule,  that  the 
more  forcibly  the  hand  is  applied,  the  more  emphatic  is 
the  lady's  declaration  in  your  favor. 

The  peasants  of  Savolaxa  in  Finland  have  a  singular 
mode  of  making  love.^  The  young  man  commissions 
some  aged  dame  to  acquaint  the  lady  with  his  devotion 
to  her  interests,  sending  her  at  the  same  time  some  pre- 


^Acerbi's  Travels,  311.    '  Clarke's  Travels  in  ScaHdinavia,  3dl-2.    ^Idem, 
333.    * /dm,  345.    */(fm,  337. 


McerW,  I,  287,  288.    'Jt?m,  276.    Udem,22d, 
VI]  24 


186 


IIISTOKY  UF  CIVII.IZATION. 


sents.  The  dame  seeks  out  a  favorable  opportunity,  expa- 
tiates largely  on  the  young  man's  merits  and  virtues,  and 
slips  the  presents  into  her  bosom.  The  girl,  if  she  retains 
the  present,  is  understood  as  yielding  the  point.  If  she 
simply  gives  back  the  present,  that  is  not  regarded  as  a 
fatal  negative.  A  repetition  of  his  attempts  may  yet  ac- 
complish his  object.  But  if  by  unloosing  the  cincture  of 
her  dress  she  lets  the  present  fall  between  her  breast  and 
shift  to  the  ground,  that  is  a  rejection  that  banishes  all 
hope  and  precludes  any  further  negotiation. 

On  the  wedding  day  some  peasant  orator  does  the  honors 
of  the  feast,  and  is  expected  to  make  extempore  verses 
suitable  to  the  occasion,  or  to  any  incidental  circumstances 
that  may  arise.  On  the  day  following,  the  guests  are  also 
assembled  as  on  the  day  of  the  wedding,  and  the  orator 
makes  a  speech  in  verse  or  prose,  and  thumps  the  bride 
lustily  with  the  bridegroom's  breeches,  saying  at  the  same 
time:  "Be  fruitful,  woman,  and  don't  fail  of  producing 
heirs  to  your  husband." 

In  one  part  of  Finland  young  women  wear  suspended 
at  their  girdles,  the  case  or  sheath  of  a  knife,  as  a  sign  that 
they  are  unmarried,  and  would  have  no  objection  to  chang- 
ing their  condition.  The  young  man  who  would  like  to 
be  instrumental  in  effecting  the  change,  contrives  slily  to 
slip  a  knife  into  the  sheath,  without  her  perceiving  it.^  If 
she  allows  it  to  remain  it  is  a  favorable  symptom,  if  not, 
a  refusal. 

In  another  part  the  young  couple,  without  quite  undress- 
ing, have  a  custom  of  sleeping  together  for  one  week 
before  the  day  appointed  for  the  wedding.  This  is  called 
the  week  of  the  breeches.  If  mutually  satisfactory  the 
marriage  takes  place.     If  not,  it  is  thrown  up. 

Their  baths  and  manner  of  bathing  affords  another 
curious  instance  of  the  social  customs  of  the  Finns.  Al- 
most all  the  Finnish  peasants  have  a  bath  house,  consisting 


» AcetU,  I,  296. 


J 


\ 


•! 


i 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


187 


of  one  small  chamber,  in  the  innermost  part  of  which  are 
placed  a  number  of  stones,  which  are  first  heated  to  a  red 
heat.  Water  being  thrown  upon  these  stones,  is  immedi- 
ately converted  into  vapor.^  Men  and  women  use  the 
bath  promiscuously,  without  any  concealment  of  dress, 
and  are  enveloped  in  a  thick  cloud  of  vapor.  The  heat 
is  raised  to  a  very  high  degree,  but  the  bathers,  neverthe- 
less, remain  in  the  bath,  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour,  and 
sometimes  a  whole  hour.  Daring  all  this  time,  they  are 
occupied  in  rubbing  themselves,  and  lashing  every  part  of 
their  bodies,  with  switches,  formed  of  twigs  of  the  birch 
tree.  In  the  severe  winter  season,  they  oflen  go  out  of  the 
bath  in  a  state  of  nudity,  to  roll  themselves  in  the  snow, 
thus  passing  instantaneously  from  an  atmosphere  of  seventy 
degrees  of  heat,  to  one  of  thirty  degrees  of  cold,  a  transi- 
tion of  a  hundred  degrees,  the  same  as  going  out  of  boiling 
into  freezing  water ;  and  all  without  the  least  inconveni- 
ence. The  peasants  insist  that  the  baths  are  a  necessity. 
That  by  their  means  their  strength  is  recruited  as  much 
as  by  rest  and  sleep,  and  that  without  them,  they  could  not 
sustain,  during  the  whole  day,  their  severe  labors. 

The  Finns  are  not  insensible  to  the  charms  of  poetry 
and  music.  The  species  of  verse  they  make  use  of,  is  the 
runic,  composed  of  lines  of  eight  trochees,  or  long  and 
short  syllables.  They  do  not  rhyme  with  corresponding 
endings,  but  are  alliterative,  having  like  beginnings,  that 
is,  having  two  at  least  or  more  words  which  agree  in  a 
letter  or  syllable.  These  runic  verses  are  sometimes 
uttered  extempore  at  their  public  meetings,  and  sometimes 
studied  for  the  occasion,  but  are  rarely  written  or  printed.^ 
A  circle  is  formed  of  the  auditors,  in  the  midst  of  which, 
stand  the  improvisitor  and  his  repetitory  coadjutor.  Every 
line  given  by  the  former  is  repeated  in  the  same  tune  by 
the  latter.  While  the  latter  is  repeating,  the  former  has 
time  to  prepare  the  succeeding  line,  and  thus  they  both 


» /k6TW.  I,  297.    '^irfm,  303. 


)  ^ 


ll»5-'^_:frj'-r'-.Mi 


188 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


189 


proceed,  the  coadjutor  always  taking  up  the  last  words  of 
the  improvisitor's  line,  and  then  repeating  it  by  himself, 
until  the  performance  is  completed.     And  this,  with  the 
aid  of  beer  and  brandy,  sometimes  continues  to   a  late 

hour. 

Much  of  the  amusement  at  fairs,  or  at  their  private 
meetings,  consists  in  these  kind  of  songs,  or  recitations, 
sometimes  accompanied  by  the  harp.  The  Finns  have 
also  many  runic  verses,^  which  are  supposed  to  contain 
healing  powers,  and  those  are  styled  sanat,  or  charms. 
Thus  there  are  mandan  sanat,  charms  for  the  bite  of  a 
serpent;  tulen  sanat,  charms  to  cure  scalds  or  burns;  and 
raudan  sanat,  charms  to  heal  wounds.  The  national  in- 
strument of  Finland  is  the  harpu,  which  much  resembles 

the  harp. 

The  Finns  have  no  national  dance,  but  there  is  one  con- 
sisting of  rustic  jumping,  without  the  smallest  grace,  mixed 
with  certain  capers,  there  being  no  variety  in  step,  nor 
passion  in  attitude,  nor  expression  in  countenance.^^  The 
only  variety  consists  in  a  difference  in  the  position  of  their 
arms,  which  are  alternately  laid  one  over  the  other. 

There  is  also  another,  termed  the  bear's  dance,  in  which 
a  peasant  resting  his  hands  upon  the  ground  supports  him- 
self on  his  legs,  so  as  to  keep  his  body  in  a  horizontal  posi- 
tion, similar  to  the  bear  when  it  walks  on  all  fours.^ 
Remaining  constantly  in  the  same  attitude,  he  begins  to 
dance,  and  by  his  leaps  and  jumps,  attempts  to  keep  time 
with  the  music.  Its  execution  is  attended  with  great  labor 
and  fatigue,  so  that  it  is  difficult  for  a  peasant  to  go  on 
with  it  more  than  three  or  four  minutes  without  falling 
into  the  most  violent  perspiration.  It  is  an  exercise  well 
calculated  for  strengthening  the  muscles  of  the  arms,  and 
hence  highly  useful  to  the  natives  whose  laborious  exertions 
in  ascending  the  cataracts  in  summer  require  very  great 
vigor  and  muscular  power.     Address  and  bodily  strength 


f 


I 


'  Aeerbi,  t.  321 .    "  Idem,  329.    '  Idem,  391,  392. 


are  qualities  in  the  highest  repute  among  the  peasantry,  and 
besides  this  dance,  they  have  other  exercises  which  demand 
a  high  degree  of  activity  and  firmness  in  their  limbs. 

7.  The  development  of  society  in  the  British  isles. 

England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  and  Wales,  together  with 
the  adjacent  isles,  make  up  the  British  empire.  These  are 
all  united  under  one  political  head,  and  all  their  different 
peoples  have,  therefore,  necessary  relations  with  each  other. 
These  relatione  bring  them  more  or  less  into  contact,  and 
thus  gradually  lead  to  an  assimilation  to  each  other. 
Lines  of  influence  extend  from  the  capital  and  reach  the 
Highlander  in  his  clan,  the  Welshman  amid  his  mountains, 
and  the  Irishman  as  he  plies  his  daily  task.  The  cities  of 
the  empire  take  their  fashions  and  social  life  from  the  cap- 
ital; the  villages  take  theirs  from  the  cities,  while  the 
country  lags  along  sometimes  a  good  deal  in  the  rear  of 

the  villages. 

The  rapid  extension  of  the  same  manners,  customs,  and 
social  life  does  not,  however,  depend  on  being  under  the  same 
head,  or  subject  to  the  same  law.  It  is  governed  more  by 
the  frequency  of  intercourse  among  the  people.  Hence  in 
cities  and  villages  where  people  are  so  much  in  contact 
with  each  other,  social  life  presents  less  variety,  while  in 
the  country  there  often  lingers  very  long  the  remnants  of 
manners,  customs,  and  superstitions  that  belonged  to  a 
former  age. 

In  the  British  isles  the  greatest  barrier  that  presents 
itself  to  uniformity  in  manners,  customs  and  social  life  is 
in  the  difference  of  race  that  prevails  among  its  different 
peoples.  Nowhere  else  within  the  same  geographical 
limits  are  exhibited  the  same  diversity  of  race,  and  also 
the  same  progress  in  the  formation,  out  of  that  diversity, 
of  a  homogeneous  people. 

The  Celtic  race  appear  to  have  been  the  first  that  migrated 
from  their  distant  homes  in  the  east  crossing  the  breadth  of 
Europe  north  of  the  Alps.     While  a  portion  of  that  race 


I 


190 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


191 


are  supposed  by  many  to  have  passed  through  Spain  and 
across  the  Bay  of  Biscay  into  Ireland/  where  they  perma- 
nently settled,  another  passed  from  Brittany  over  the  chan- 
nel, and  were  the  early  occupants  of  England.  Through 
this,  or  some  other  channel,  were  derived  the  highlanders 
of  Scotland,  who  are  Celtic  in  their  origin  and  language. 

Besides  these  two  avenues,  the  Scandinavians  early  over- 
run a  great  part  of  the  isles  and  adjacent  districts  of  the 
main  land,  bringing  with  them,  however,  few  or  no  women  ;^ 
so  that  in  their  settlement,  and  in  the  formation  of  domes- 
tic ties,  there  was  a  marked  tendency  towards  a  homo- 
geneous result.  This  same  fact  in  other  cases  may  have 
also  exerted  a  strong  influence. 

It  is  on  the  soil  of  England  that  the  contest  between  races 
has  been  the  most  severe  and  unmitigated.  There  the 
Briton  or  Celt  was  first  disturbed  by  the  Roman  invasion, 
and  for  almost  five  hundred  years  England  was  a  Roman 
province.  Next  after  the  withdrawal  of  the  Romans  came 
the  Saxons  and  Angles  under  Hen  gist  and  Ilorsa,  and  by 
these  the  Britons  were  subdued.  Then  came  the  heptarchy, 
the  rule  of  Saxon  law,  characterized  by  a  thorough  engraft- 
hig  of  Saxon  manners  and  Saxon  language  upon  British 
soil.  Many  remnants  of  the  old  Britons  took  refuge  in 
the  mountainous  tracts  of  Wales,  and  perhaps  the  purest 
sample  of  an  unmixed  race  anywhere  upon  the  British 
isles  are  yet  to  be  found  in  that  country.  "From  the  moun- 
tains of  Wales  the  descendants  of  the  ancient  Cimri  or  Celts 
have  seen  their  brethren  in  the  west  and  north  melt  away 
in  the  great  stream  of  mingling  populations,^  while  they 
have  themselves  retained  their  old  Celtic  speech,  and  their 
features  of  Celtic  nationality." 

Of  the  invading  Angles  and  Saxons  the  former  took  pos- 
ession  of  the  north  and  north-west  portion  of  England,^ 
while  to  the  Saxons  were  assigned  the  south  and  south-east. 


There  was  also  a  belt  of  land  inhabited  by  the  Britons 
extending  along  nearly  the  whole  of  the  western  side  of  the 
island  from  Cumberland  to  Cornwall.^ 

But  the  Anglo-Saxon  conquerors  of  England  were  not 
permitted  to  enjoy  their  triumphs  in  quiet.  The  Danes  and 
other  Northmen  commenced  making  their  descents  and  set- 
tlements on  the  English  coast.  During  the  latter  half  of 
the  tenth  century  a  powerful  Norwegian  migration  appears 
to  have  set  in,^  with  little  noise,  but  with  much  steadiness 
and  effect,  on  Cumberland  and  the  adjacent  parts.  At  the 
commencement  of  the  eleventh  occurred  the  massacre  of 
the  Danes  by  the  Saxons,^  followed  by  the  Danish  invasions 
under  Sweyn  and  Canute,  and  the  subjugation  of  England 
under  Danish  rule. 

The  Danish  blood  in  England  became  the  most  prevalent 
in  East  Anglia,^  and  along  the  eastern  coast  between  the 
Humber  and  the  Forth.  Also  in  the  midland  counties, 
forming  the  kingdom  of  Mercia,  while  in  the  west,  the 
admixture  was  more  between  the  Saxons  and  the  British, 
Thus  the  blood  ot  the  Northmen,  either  Danes  or  Saxons,^ 
became  the  dominant  blood  along  the  whole  of  the  lowlands 
between  the  Mersey  and  the  Clyde. 

The  year  1066  brought  the  Norman  under  William  the 
conqueror,  who,  at  the  battle  of  Hastings,  overthrew  the 
Saxon  power,  took  possession  of  the  kingdom ;  parcelled 
out  the  realm  among  his  Norman  followers ;  established, 
in  all  its  rigor,  the  feudal  system ;  planted  all  over  Eng- 
land the  baronial  castle;  depopulated  a  belt  of  land  in  the 
northern  part  of  England  by  sweeping  away  a  hundred 
thousand  lives  ;^  excluding  the  English  people  from  all 
oflices,  except  the  lowest,  both  in  church  and  state;  thus 
endeavoring  everywhere  to  establish  a  ruling  caste,  the 
Norman,  whose  right  was  that  of  the  sword.  These  Nor- 
mans were  originally  Northmen  from  Scandinavia,  but  on 


^ Pnchard,  Researches,   in,  152.       ^Letters  from  Scotland,   i,  XXIV. 
*  Vanghf'n,i,XH.     'Mw,  160. 


^  VaugJimi,  I,  IQl.    '^Iduji,  IQb.    ^ Idem,  162.    *Idem,lQ5.    " Idem,  IQQ. 
^  Idem,  289,290,  291. 


192 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


their  settlement  in  ITormandy,  and  intermixture  by  mar- 
riage with  the  Frank  population,  while  they  retained  their 
warlike  habits/  their  pride,  and  their  love  of  independence 
and  adventure,  they  threw  aside  their  Scandinavian 
customs,  ceased  to  speak  their  mother  tongue,  adopted  the 
religion  of  the  Franks,  and  with  it  their  modes  of  legisla- 
tion and  of  judicature,  and  their  general  usage. 

Thus  the  England  of  to-day  is  constructed  out  of  the  con- 
flict and  the  mingling  of  races.  It  is  not  to  be  lost  sight 
of  that  each  successive  invading  host  was  composed  mostly 
if  not  entirely  of  men  ;  that  of  these  very  many  would  iind 
their  wives  among  those  whom  they  had  conquered ;  and 
that  thus  relations  would  inevitably  spring  up  between  the 
different  races,  tending  to  the  creation,  in  the  end,  of  a 
homogeneous  people.  It  is  probably  to  this  circumstance 
that  England  owes  so  much  of  her  greatness  and  acknow- 
ledged superiority  in  all  or  most  of  the  elements  of  a  great 
and  still  advancing  civilization.  Her  gallantry  and  admir- 
ation of  the  heroic  and  the  sublime  she  derives  from  the 
Norman  stock ;  her  pluck  and  steady  persistence  in  carry- 
ing out  the  great  principles  that  lie  at  the  ground-work  of 
her  action,  from  the  Anglo-Saxon ;  while  from  the  Danish 
viking  comes  the  daring  spirit  that  sends  her  navies  over 
all  the  waters  of  the  globe,  and  renders  her  the  undisputed 

mistress  of  the  seas. 

The  Norman  had  many  generous  qualities.  He  prac- 
ticed a  kind  of  gross  hospitality  and  indiscriminate  charity  ,2 
which  afforded  some  compensation  for  his  baronial  despot- 
ism. He  seems  to  have  been  made  up  of  the  most  opposite 
qualities.  He  was  acutely  discerning,  and  yet  ignorant 
and  credulous ;  honorably  brave,  though  most  atrociously 
cruel;  respectful  to  the  fair  sex  even  to  adoration,  and  yet 
brutually  licentious  to  individuals  ;  effeminate  in  his  dress 
and  manners,  whilst  he  was  capable  of  undergoing  the 
greatest  fatigues. 


»  Vaughan,  i,  261.    '  Great  Bntain,  11,  284. 


EUROPE -ITS  SOCIETY 


193 


^1 


What  has  already  been  said  relative  to  European  society 
as  it  existed  among  the  early  European  races,  the  Scandi- 
navian, the  Celtic,  and  the  Germanic;  and  also  in  the 
middle  ages  and  under  the  feudal  system ;  and  in  the  age 
of  chivalry,  has  an  application  to  English  social  life  in  its 
various  transitional  stages,  and  may  here  be  entirely  passed 
over.  What  remains  to  be  said  relative  to  the  develop- 
ment of  that  life  may  be  included  under  : 

First.  Certain  traits  of  character  of  the  English  people. 

Second.  Dwellings  of  the  English  people  and  home  life. 

Third.  Their  dress  and  costume. 

Fourth.  Their  social  habits  and  customs. 

Fifth.  Their  sports,  pastimes,  and  amusements. 

First.  Traits  of  character.  The  English  have  been  cha- 
racterized as  large-uatured/having  a  mild  aspect,  and  a 
ringing,  cheerful  voice.  They  are  large  of  stature,  good 
livers,  understanding  and  acting  the  most  perfectly  upon 
the  true  philosophy  of  living.  They  rear  up  the  physical 
man  into  its  largest  and  most  beautiful  proportions  :^  1. 
By  bestowing  upon  it  food  of  the  most  nutritious  quality, 
mostly  animal,  at  such  times,  in  such  quantities,  and  of 
such  quality,  as  is  best  adapted  for  that  purpose.  ^  2.  By 
subjecting  it  from  the  earliest  periods  to  great  varieties  of 
exercise  in  the  open  air,  and  mostly  of  that  kind  that 
affords,  at  the  same  time,  a  healthy  mental  stimulus, 
such  as  riding,  racing,  hunting,  and  various  other  species 
of  severe  exercise.  3.  By  giving  that  species  of  mental 
culture,  that  looks  to  the  sohd,  rather  than  to  the  super- 
ficial, bestowing  greater  depth  than  surface,  and  securing 
strength  and  power,  with  little  regard  to  mere  accomplish- 
ments. 

The  Englishman  lives  in  a  world  of  realities,  and  .is 
willing  to  deal  with  them  as  such.  His  great  possession, 
that  which  is  worth  all  things  else,  is  a  sound  and  invinci- 


^  Traits,  Emerson,  131. 
VI] 


25 


194 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


ble  common  sense,  giving  a  clear  and  accurate  conception 
of  the  necessary  conditions  of  things,  and  inspiring  right 
thinking  and  action  amid  the  many  diversities  that  are 
here  presented.  There  is  little  of  mere  fancy  or  play  of 
the  imagination  in  his  character.  His  poetry  prefers 
rather  to  limit  its  revelations  to  home  life,  and  to  weave  its 
garlands  of  beauty  for  the  baronial  hall  and  for  the  shepherd 
and  cottager ;  investing  rural  pursuits  and  matters  of  every 
day  life,  with  an  ideal  character,  instead  of  peering  into 
the  unknown,  and  endeavoring  to  clothe  the  unsubstantial 
with  the  forms  of  reality.  His  philosophy  is  decidedly  real- 
istic and  materialistic.  It  is  the  philosophy  of  Bacon  and 
Locke ;  that  which  takes  its  views  entirely  from  the  em- 
pirical stand  point;  which  questions  nature  by  experiment, 
and  deduces  from  phenomena  their  law ;  which  feels 
thoroughly  at  home  only  in  physical  science,  and  which 
delights  in  the  whirling  spindle  and  the  pounding  trip 
hammer.     Its  highest  and  only  real  test,  is  utility. 

The  Englishman  is  thoroughly  utilitarian  in  all  his  ten- 
dencies. His  inquiry  is  whether  a  thing  will  pay ;  whether 
it  will  ultimately  succeed,  and  what  it  may  fairly  be  pre- 
sumed to  accomplish  in  the  way  of  becoming  productive 
capital.  The  science  which  the  English  may  be  said  to  have 
originated,  studied,  tested,  practiced  upon,  and  carried 
almost  to  its  extremest  limits  in  every  possible  direction,  is 
that  of  political  economy.  The  science  of  values,  of  pro- 
ductive capital,  of  the  rent  of  land,  wages  of  labor  and 
profits  of  stock,  has,  through  several  generations,  been  con- 
stantly developing  through  the  economic  action  of  the 
English  people.  The  revelations  of  the  stock  exchange 
present  the  culminating  point  in  which  all  England,  and 
in  fact  all  Europe,  are  constantly  feeling  the  most  lively 
degree  of  interest.  England  has  so  long  subsidized  the 
different  continental  powers  that  she  may  now  be  regarded 
as  holding  the  purse  strings  of  Europe.  Wealth  is  wor- 
shiped in  England.  The  bank  possesses  the  elements  of 
immense  power.     Its  alternate  contraction  and  expansion, 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


195 


1' 


"t 


^ 


like  the  systole  and  diastole  of  a  mighty  heart,  sends  its 
strong  pulsations  to  the  extremes  of  the  civilized  world. 
At  its  bidding,  human  muscles  and  machinery,  and  spinning 
jennies,  and  all  the  wonderful  complications  of  steam,  per- 
form their  respective  work  with  all  the  order,  regularity 
and  system  as  if  they  had  been  drilled  to  nothing  else  ever 
since  the  creation.  If  the  fashions  of  the  world  look  to 
Paris,  and  everywhere  acknowledge  the  control  of  the  belle 
monde,  of  the  French  capital ;  so  the  prices  of  commodi- 
ties all  over  the  globe  no  less  refer  to  London,  and  are 
governed  by  the  developments  of  the  stock  exchange  in 
that  wonderful  city.  The  colossal  power  of  English  wealth 
acknowledges  no  superior  on  the  surface  of  the  globe. 

Englishmen  ever  keep  steadily  in  view  the  objects  which 
they  propose  to  accomplish.  Selecting  the  means  with 
great  care,  and  with  reference  to  their  peculiar  efficacy, 
they  persist  in  tlieir  employment  until  the  object  is  attained, 
or  its  impossibility  rendered  entirely  clear. 

Englishmen  are  generally  honest  and  truth  loving.  In 
this  respect  they  constitute  no  exception  to  the  old  Teu- 
tonic stock.  This  honesty  and  truthfulness  are  more 
especially  manifested  in  business  transactions.  In  all  these, 
they  both  practice  and  require  promptness  and  plain  dealing. 
Should  the  government  omit  to  pay  the  interest  on  the 
national  debt  the  day  it  falls  due,  the  shock  of  a  terrible 
earthquake  would  not  more  excite,  alarm,  or  terrify  the 
nation.  This  trait  in  the  English  character  is  their  sheet 
anchor  in  all  the  markets  of  the  globe.  All  the  dealers  in 
English  products  and  English  stocks,  the  world  over,  trust 
with  unwavering  confidence  to  those  elements  of  truth, 
capacity,  and  straightforwardness  that  enter  into  the 
English  character.  They  have  no  respect  for  adventurers, 
and   an  innate   horror   of  everything  that   appears   like 

humbug. 

The  law  of  primogeniture  has  exercised  a  great  influence 
upon  English  character.  The  descent  of  property  and 
peerage  to  the  eldest  born  lias  perpetuated  an  aristocracy 


196 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


who  are  distinguished  in  part  by  wealth,  but  more  by 
manners,  title  and  personal  privilege.  It  is  this  that  has 
scattered-  palaces,  halls,  villas  and  magnificent  parks  all 
over  England.  The  aristocracy  receives  abundant  support, 
notwithstanding  its  special  privileges,  from  the  large, 
wealthy,  and  influential  middle  class,  who  might  be  natur- 
ally supposed  to  be  hostile  by  reason  of  such  privileges. 
And  the  principal  reason  is  that  there  are  two  avenues  to 
the  ranks  of  this  same  aristocracy.  The  one  lies  through 
great  wealth,  the  otlier  through  commanding  talents.  The 
wealthy  purchase  land,  identify  themselves  with  that  in- 
terest, and  seek  through  it  as  early  an  introduction  as 
possible  into  the  aristocratic  body.  The  other  strengthen 
their  minds,  improve  their  powers,  and  make  themselves 
felt  through  their  exercise,  and  thus  seek  admission  through 
this  avenue  into  the  same  body.  Besides,  there  is  a  sort  of 
pride  which  the  English  possess  in  cherishing  the  old 
nobility.  There  belong  to  it  many  illustrious  names,  names 
identified  with  EngUsh  triumphs,  with  the  success  of 
English  principles,  and  the  establishment  of  English  rights. 
The  great  point  that  marks  the  difterence  between  the 
French  noblesse  and  the  English  nobles  is  that  the 
former  flourish  only  in  the  atmosphere  of  a  court;  the 
latter  only  in  that  of  their  own  country  homes.  The 
former  dazzle  and  captivate  only  as  they  reflect  the  rays 
that  have  fallen  upon  them  from  royalty.  The  latter  shed 
a  light  of  their  own,  which,  if  it  is  less  strong,  is  more 
satisfactory  and  enduring.  The  former  go  to  their  country 
residences  as  to  a  place  of  banishment ;  visit  their  tenantry 
only  to  extort  from  them  all  the  money  possible ;  which 
instead  of  expending  in  the  country  they  carry  to  the 
capital,  and  there  lavish  in  splendor  and  display.  Be- 
tween them  and  tlieir  country  tenantry  there  can  be  nothing 
but  coldness,  estrangement,  and  evenhof^tiiity.  The  latter 
living  at  home  in  the  midst  of  their  tenantry  preserve  with 
them  Mendly  relations,  and  thus  secure  a  popularity  where 
it  must  be  the  most  agreeable. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


197 


I 


The  English  noble,  instead  of  giving  the  land  his  own 
names,  takes  his  from  the  land,  wearing  the  token  of  the 
glebe  that  gave  him  birth,  and  representing  the -country 
that  nourished  and  reared  him  up.^  Thus  associations  grow 
up  between  the  names  of  places  and  those  of  families,  and 
these  in  time  acquire  a  high  degree  of  permanence. 

By  living  in  this  manner,  the  English  nobles  lead  quiet, 
unostentatious  lives,  having  the  lead'in  "  matters  of  state  and 
of  expense ;  in  questions  of  taste,  in  social  usages,  in  con- 
'vivial  and  domestic  hospitalities."^  If  they  have  not  the 
most  powerful  brains  they  have  the  best  manners.  There 
is  with  them  a  sense  of  superiority,  "the  absence  of  all  the 
ambitious  eftbrt  which  disgusts  in  the  aspiring  classes,  a 
pure  tone  of  thought  and  feeling,  and  the  power  to  com- 
mand, among  their  other  luxuries,  the  presence  of  the  most 
accomplished  men  in  their  festive  meetings."  ^ 

The  English  hate  all  craft  and  subtlety.  They  are  ever 
ready  to  wage  warfare,  but  it  is  always  an  open  one.  Poi- 
sonings and  assassinations  they  seldom  resort  to.  Their 
philosophy  is  to  bring  force  manfully  in  conflict  with  force, 
and  to  fight  on  until  one  proves  the  stronger  and  the  other 
gives  up. 

With  these  traits  lying  at  the  foundation  of  English 
character,  it  remains  to  be  seen  in  what  manner  they  have 
been  developed  in  English  social  life. 

Second.  Dwellings  of  the  English  people  and  home  life. 

The  dwellings  of  the  ancient  Britons  were  of  the  rudest 
kind,  little  better  than  thickets,  dens  and  caves.  Their 
towns  were  made  up  of  wicker  huts,  which  they  placed  at 
short  distances  from  each  other  in  a  tract  of  woody  land,* 
surrounding  them  by  a  trench  to  secure  them  from  their 
enemies.  These  were  more  especially  for  summer.  Their 
winter  lodgings,  and  also  places  of  retreat  in  time  of  war, 
were  dug  deep  in  the  ground  and  covered  with  earth,  and 
thus  rendered  secure  and  warm. 


'  Kmcrsoih  181.    '  Lhm,  180.    '  Mem,  188.    *  Manners  and  Cifsfanis,  IG. 


198 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Their  firat  advance  upon  this  was  to  construct  wooden 
houses,  havuig  high  tapering  roofs  with  apertures  at  the 
top  for  the  admission  of  light,  and  emission  of  smoke. 
They  bore  a  strong  resemblance  to  sugar  loaves,  the  holes 
at  the  top  serving  for  windows  as  well  as  chimneys. 

During  the  reign  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,  the  dwellings  were 
hovels  built  of  wood  or  earth,^  and  thatched  with  straw  or 
the  branches  of  trees.  -They  were  full  of  crevices.  Their 
largest  and  best  buildings  were  constructed  of  wood,  and 
covered  with  thatch.  The  houses  of  the  most  wealtliy  had* 
glass  windows,  but  the  huts  of  the  poor  had  only  a  small 
hole  with  a  bit  of  horn  for  a  window.  The  floor  consisted 
of  bare  ground  strewed  with  rushes.  Tliese  the  wealthy 
changed  frequently,  but  the  poor  allowed  tliera  to  remain 
for  along  time.  Stoves  and  chimneys  were  unknown,  the 
fire  being  made  upon  the  floor,  the  smoke  escaping  either 
through  the  doorway,  or  a  hole  in  the  roof.  The  method 
resorted  to  by  the  Saxon  to  t<:st  the  courage  of  his  young 
son  was  to  put  him  on  the  slanting  side  of  the  house,  and 
there  leave  him.  If  he  looked  afraid  and  began  crying, 
they  predicted  a  coward,  but  if  he  clung  boldly  to  the  roof, 
and  appeared  fearless,^  they  foretold  the  brave  man  and 
the  warrior. 

An  advance  was  made  by  the  Korman.  In  the  twelfth 
century  great  improvements  were  made  in  architecture, 
although  the  country  people  still  lived  very  generally  in 
hovels.  Glass  windows  came  into  general  use  in  1180. 
In  John's  reign  came  the  invention  of  chimneys.  Previous 
to  that  the  smoke  had  no  other  avenue  of  escape  than  either 
through  the  doorway,  or  through  a  hole  in  the  roof.  The 
Normans,  however,  introduced  very  few  articles  of  furni- 
ture in  the  eleventh  century. 

The  houses  in  London  were  mostly  thatched  with  straw 
till  the  reign  of  Henry  Til,  when  it  was  ordered  that  all 
houses  in  the  city  should  l)e  covered  witli  tiles  or  slates.^ 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


199 


If 

t' 


Architecture,  with  some  other  arts  of  design  made  a  pro- 
gress in  England  in  the  fourteenth  century.  A  greater 
profusion  of  ornament  was  used.  The  architects  kept 
together,  lived  in  movable  huts,  and  called  themselves 
freemasons.^  Many  of  the  domestic  buildings  were 
still  erected  for  defense.  They  were  moated,  contained 
but  few  rooms,  the  hall  being  much  larger  than  the 
rest.  Fires  except  for  cooking  were  little  used  in  pri- 
vate houses.  Chimneys  were  by  no  means  common. 
Painted  ceilings  and  walls  in  the  houses  of  the  wealthy 
prevailed  before  the  time  of  Henry  HI.  Also  painted 
glass  windows. 

During  the  next,  or  the  fifteenth  century,  Gothic  archi- 
tecture improved,  and  the  wealthy  abandoned  the  moated 
castle  and  commenced  inhabiting  large  rambling  mansions, 
constructed  of  timber,  and  covered  with  plaster.^  These 
were  generally  built  round  one  or  two  quadrangles,  often 
possessing  a  great  variety  of  exterior  detail.  Within,  the 
great  hall  with  its  open  groined  roof,  the  kitchen,  and  the 
buttery  were  the  most  observable.  At  the  upper  end  of 
the  hall  was  the  raised  floor  on  which  stood  the  table, 
around  which  the  gentlemen  were  seated  on  wooden 
benches,  and  the  ladies  on  low  stools.^  A  music  gallery 
was  at  the  lower  end,  the  fireplace  in  the  centre,  and 
instead  of  chimneys  a  hole  to  permit  the  smoke  to  escape. 
The  floors  were  strewn  with  rushes,  overhead  were  perches 
for  hawks.  The  walls  were  hung  with  arras.  The  beds 
were  usually  straw  pallets,  with  a  log  of  wood  for  a  bol- 
ster, and  a  horse  cloth  for  a  coverlet.  In  farm  houses  the 
same  plan  of  building  round  a  quadrangle  was  adhered  to. 
In  towns  the  houses  were  chiefly  of  wood.  The  houses  of 
the  great  barons  were  very  extensive,  and  surrounded 
inner  courts.  Some  of  them  could  accommodate  one 
thousand  men.  But  these  large  dwellings  were  more 
stately  than  comfortable. 


^M'ninfrfi  (tnd  r».9fonift.  42.     '^  rdem,  Pit.     '  Idem,  121. 


Manners  and  Customs,  120, 121.    "  Idem,  163.    "  Idem,  1G4. 


\  . 


200 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


E U HOPE  —  ITfcs  SOCIETY . 


201 


During  the  Tudor  dynasty,  the  dwellings  of  the  wealthy 
were  large,  comfortless  places,  surrounded  by  walled  courts, 
which  had  more  the  appearance  of  prisons,  than  of  gentle- 
men's habitations.  In  the  time  of  Elizabeth,  the  last  of 
the  Tudors,^  the  style  of  the  houses  adopted  by  the  wealthy , 
w^as  something  between  a  castle  and  a  mansion.  To  each 
residence  belonged  a  moat,  a  gateway,  and  one  or  two 
strong  turrets.  Enter,  and  the  furniture  is  quaint,  but 
often  rich  and  picturesque.  The  walls  are  hung  with 
tapestry;  the  chairs,  high-backed,  carved,  stuffed,  and 
covered  with  velvet  or  satin. ^  The  beds  are  apparently 
comfortable,  often  elegant.  Looking  glasses  are  just  being 
introduced,  in  the  place  of  steel  mirrors.  There  is  the 
silver  spoon,  but  forks  are  not  yet  generally  used.  China 
ware  is  unknown,  although  crockery  is  in  use.  But  car- 
pets were  unknown,  even  in  the  age  of  the  last  of  the 
Tudors.  Instead  of  them,  you  will  iind  the  floors  strewn 
with  rushes,  and  the  filth,  which  was  allowed  to  accumulate, 
was  often  the  cause  of  infectious  diseases.^ 

The  farm  houses  were  built  of  timber,  and  those  of 
laborers,  of  mud,  or  wattle  and  mud ; '  many  having  no 
chimneys.  Straw  beds  and  pillows  of  chaff  were  common. 
Trenchers  and  wooden  spoons  were  in  use.  But  this  was 
near  the  commencement  of  the  reign  of  the  Tudors,  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  century.  In  the  last  of  the 
sixteenth,  the  houses  were  much  improved.^  Wood  or 
wattle  gave  way  to  stone  or  brick ;  wooden  trenchers  to 
pewter  plates ;  and  straw  and  chaff  mattresses  to  feather 

beds. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth  century  the  interior 
of  houses  began  to  be  greatly  embellish ed.«  Rich  velvets 
and  silks,  embroidered  with  cloth  of  gold  and  of  silver, 
and  colored  satins,  abounded,  of  the  most  gorgeous  hues. 
Carpets  took  the  place  of  rushes  on  the  floors.     There  were 


carved  cabinets  of  oak  ebony  and  ivory.  Superb  ornaments 
of  ivory  and  china  came  from  the  east ;  and  altogether  the 
houses  of  the  wealthy  presented  a  scene  of  stately  elegance 
and  luxury  that  has  continued  from  that  period  down  to 
the  present  time. 

Third.  The  dresses  and  costume  of  the  British  people. 

The  early  Britons  wore  a  mantle  which  enwrapped  the 
whole  body,  and  was  fastened  in  front  with  a  clasp,  and 
occasionally  a  thorn. ^  These  were  smooth  inside,  and 
covered  with  long  hair  on  the  other.  The  southern  Britons 
wore  a  tunic  ornamented  with  flowers,  and  loose  garments 
called  braecae,  covering  their  legs  and  thighs  like  the  trou- 
sers worn  by  sailors  of  the  present  day.  Their  shoes  were 
of  coarse  skin  with  the  hair  outwards.  They  had  a  cas- 
sock or  cloak  of  chequer-work,  united  by  laces  on  the 
inside,  giving  the  appearance  of  flowers.  Sometimes  a 
short  woolen  jacket  was  worn  without  the  tunic.  Some- 
times it  was  girded  by  a  belt,  or  ornamented  with  gold 
and  silver. 

But  in  the  northern  parts  of  the  country,  away  from  the 
Roman  power  and  influence,  even  so  late  as  A.  D.  207, 
the  Britons  appear  to  have  been  naked,  their  necks  and 
waists  rudely  decorated  with  large  rings  and  chains  of  iron, 
and  their  bodies  marked  with  various  figures,  and  stains 
of  woad.  The  desire  of  exhibiting  the  figures  and  stains 
may  have  operated  to  prevent  a  resort  to  any  kind  of 
covering. 

The  British  females  were  ornamented  with  golden  chains, 
rings  and  bracelets,  and  their  hair  hung  loose  upon  their 
shoulders,^  being  turned  back  and  falling  down  behind 
without  tying  or  braiding. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  costume  consisted  of  a  linen  shirt,  a 
linen  or  woolen  tunic,  according  to  the  season,  descend- 
ing to  the  knees,  and  having  long,  close  sleeves,  over  which 
was  worn  a  short  cloak,  like  the  Roman  pallium,  fastened 


^^ 


'  Manners  and  Cmtmns,  m,  Id^.    Uikm,ldl}.    Udem,l%.    */(/m,  216. 
"  Idem,  218.    "  Idem,  352, 253. 


'  Great  Bntain,  ii,  234.    « Idem,  23G-7. 
VI]  26 


*jC- 


202 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE —  ITS  SOCIETY. 


203 


sometiines  on  the  breast,  and  sometimes  on  one  or  both 
shoulders  with  brooches  or  fibulse.^  The  linen  or  woolen 
tunic  was  fastened  with  a  belt  round  the  waist.  The  smock- 
frock  of  the  present  day  is  its  lineal  descendant  and  almost 
precisely  like  it.  What  the  Saxons  termed  brech  and  hose 
consisted  of  drawers  reaching  half  way  down  the  thigh, 
and  stockings  meeting  them.  Over  these  latter  they  wore 
bands  of  cloth,  linen  or  leather,  commencing  at  the  ankle 
and  terminating  a  little  below  the  knee,  either  in  close 
rolls,  or  crossing  each  other  sandal-wise.  The  shoes  were 
usually  painted  black  with  an  opening  down  the  instep, 
and  fastened  by  a  thong.  These  garments  composed  the 
dress  of  all  classes,  the  wealthy  being  distinguished  from 
the  poor,  not  by  difference  in  form  but  by  richness  and 

ornament. 

The  Anglo-Saxon  females  wore  long  loose  garments 
reaching  to  the  ground,  which  was  called  by  different  names 
as  tunic,  gunna  or  gown,  cyrtel  or  kirtle,  and  mantle.^ 
The  head-dress  was  a  veil,  or  long  piece  of  linen  or  silk 
wrapped  around  the  head  and  neck.  The  Anglo  Saxons 
wore  their  hair  long,  parted  on  the  forehead,  and  falling 
naturally  down  the  shoulders.  The  beard  was  worn  long. 
The  Danish  costume  in  many  respects  resembled  that  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon. 

The  dress  of  the  Anglo-Norman  nobles  and  gentry  con- 
sisted of  a  long  and  close  gown  reaching  to  the  feet,^  the 
lower  edge  often  embroidered  with  gold.  Over  this  was 
thrown  a  long  cloak,  buckled  over  the  breast,  a  hood  hang- 
ing behind  it.  The  close  gown  was  put  on  over  the  head 
like  a  shirt,  and  fastened  round  the  waist  by  a  girdle. 
The  nether  stock  and  stockings  were  of  line  cloth.  The 
noble  women  of  the  Anglo-Normans,  wore  loose  gowns 
girdled  round  the  waist,  and  trailing  on  the  ground ;  but 
married  females  had  an  additional  robe  over  the  gown, 
hanging  down  before,  with  a  purse  or  pouch  hangiug  to 


«b 


'Manners and  Customs,  U.    '/dm,  37.    '  Great  Britain,  u,  275. 


the  girdle.     The  Anglo-Norman  wore  his  hair  long,  but 
his  face  shaved. 

In  the  reign  of  Richard  II  the  dress  of  the  men  was 
long,^  very  luxurious,  and  often  with  open  sides,  and  pre- 
posterously long-toed  shoes.  A  dandy  of  the  fourteenth 
century  is  thus  described.^  "  He  wore  long  pointed  shoes, 
fastened  to  his  knees  by  gold  or  silver  chsftns ;  hose  of  one 
color  on  one  leg,  and  of  another  color  on  the  other.  Short 
breeches,  not  reaching  to  the  middle  of  the  thigh ;  a  coat, 
one-half  white,  and  the  other  half  black  or  blue;  o,  long 
beard,  a  silk  band  buttoned  under  his  chin,  embroidered 
with  grotesque  figures  of  animals,  dancing  men,  etc.,  and 
sometimes  ornamented  with  gold,  silver,  and  precious 
stones."  The  women  of  the  thirteenth  century  wore  their 
gowns  so  gay  and  so  long,  that  a  poet  compares  them  to 
peacocks  and  magpies.  Another  complaint  of  this  period 
is  tight  lacing,^  the  waists  of  women  being  pinched  in  to 
make  them  look  very  slim. 

The  fifteenth  century  saw  English  dress  carried  to  a  great 
degree  of  absurdity.'*  The  jackets  were  worn  so  short  that 
a  statute  was  passed  in  1463  ordering  them  to  be  worn  a 
certain  length  behind.  The  dandies  wore  sometimes  a 
boot  on  one  leg,  and  a  stocking  on  the  other.  The  head- 
coverings  were  fantastical.  The  men  had  tight  breeches 
or  hose  ;  wore  petticoats  over  their  lower  clothing.  Their 
doublets  were  laced  in  the  front  like  a  woman's  stays 
across  a  stomacher;  and  their  gowns  were  open  in  the 
front  to  the  girdle,  and  again  from  the  girdle  to  the  ground. 
The  women  appear  in  gowns,  sometimes  having  enormous 
trains,  corsets  were  worn  over  the  other  dress.  The  head- 
dresses were  worn  immoderately  high  and  broad.*  Two 
of  them  were  peculiar,  and  were  called,  the  one  the  horned, 
and  the  other  the  steeple  head  dress.  The  first  consisted 
of  two  elevations,  like  a  mitre  worn  edgeways,  or  like  a 


^  Great  Britain,  ii,  117.     *  Manners  and   Customs,  18.      ^  Idem,  119. 
«  Great  Britain,  ii,  300.    '  Fosbroke,  ii,  840. 

f 


•^-STlBi?:. 


204 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


205 


'i\ 


heart  in  cards,  with  the  bottom  cut  oft?  These  horns  rose 
up  from  the  cap  or  bonnet,  encloi^ing  it  from  behind,  and 
rearing  their  lofty  points  into  the  air,  like  those  of  some 
wild  bison.  These  were  covered  with  some  richly  patterned 
silk  or  velvet.  The  other,  or  the  steeple,  presented  a 
round  tower  with  battlemented  tops,  and  huge  transparent 
shades,  enclosing  the  face,  and  running  to  a  point  half  a 
yard  before  and  behind  them.  Others  again  had  conical 
frames  half  a  yard  high  set  upon  their  heads,  covered  with 
lace  or  velvet.  These  are  even  now  worn  by  the  peasant 
women  in  some  parts  of  the  province  of  Normandy. 

At  the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century,  the  English  cos- 
tumes were  so  fantastical  and  absurd,  that  it  was  difficult 
to  distinguish  one  sex  from  the  other.  The  ordinary 
costume  of  the  nobility  of  the  age  of  Henry  YIII,  1509, 
consisted  of  a  full  skirted  jacket,  or  doublet,^  with  large 
sleeves  to  the  wrist,  over  which  was  worn  a  short,  but 
equally  full  coat  or  cloak,  with  loose  hanging  sleeves,  and 
a  broad  rolling  collar  of  fur,  a  brimmed  cap,  adorned  often 
with  jewels,  and  an  ostrich  feather,  stockings,  and  square- 
toed  shoes.     Ruffs  or  ruffles  were  worn  on  the  wrists. 

About  the  middle  of  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  1580,  a 
change  occurred  in  the  female  costume.^  The  body  was 
imprisoned  in  whalebone  to  the  hips,  while  the  shoulders 
sported  an  enormous  ruff  rising  to  nearly  the  height  of 
the  head  behind,  and  which  encircled  the  wearer  like  the 
nimbus  or  glory  of  a  saint.  From  the  bosom  descended 
an  interminable  stomacher,  on  each  side  of  which,  jutted 
out  horizontally,  the  enormous  vardingale,  the  prototype 
and  precursor  of  the  more  modern  hoop.  The  cap,  or  coif, 
was  occasionally  exchanged  for  a  round  bonnet  like  that 
of  the  men.  So  enormously  long  had  the  ruffs  become, 
that  persons  were  stationed  at  the  gates  of  the  different 
streets,  to  cut  down  every  ruff  which  exceeded  three  feet 
in  width.*     This  fashion  continued,  until  a  lady,  Mrs.  Tur- 


; 


i 


\ 


ner  was  hung  up  by  her  ruff  for  committing  a  murder,  and 
that  put  an  end  to  it.  In  the  time  of  the  Tudors,  in 
the  place  of  pockets,  a  loose  pouch  was  sometimes  sus- 
pended from  the  girdle.  In  this  we  find  the  rudiments  of 
the  pocket,  which  had  not  yet  found  its  way  into  costume. 

The  large  ruff  was  not  confined  to  the  costume  of 
wonien.^  The  paintings  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth  show  the 
men's  costume  to  consist  of  the  large  trunk  hose,  the  long 
waisted  doublet,  the  short  cloak  or  mantle  with  its  stand- 
ing collar,  the  ruff,  the  hat  band  and  feather,  the  shoes 
and  roses. 

In  the  reign  of  Charles  I,  1625  to  1648,  the  costume  of 
the  cavalier  or  royalist  was  picturesque.  It  consisted  of  a 
doublet  of  silk,  satin,  or  velvet,^  with  large  loose  sleeves, 
slashed  up  the  front,  the  collar  covered  by  a  falling  band 
of  the  richest  point  lace.  A  short  cloak  was  worn  carelessly 
on  one  shoulder.  The  long  breeches,  fringed  or  pointed, 
met  the  lops  of  the  wide  boots,  which  were  also  ruffled 
with  lace  or  lawn.  A  broad-leafed  Flemish  beaver  hat, 
with  a  rich  hat-band  and  plume  of  feathers,  was  set  on  one 
side  of  the  head,  and  a  Spanish  rapier  hung  from  a  most 
magnificent  baldric,  or  sword-belt,  worn  sash-wise  over 
the  right  shoulder.  The  doublet  was  occasionally  ex- 
changed for  the  buff  coat,  which  was  richly  laced.  The 
hair  was  worn  long,  and  the  beard  very  peaked,  with  small 
upturned  mustaches. 

The  large  ruff  having  expired  with  Mrs.  Turner,  so  great 
a  change  occurred  in  the  costume  of  the  ladies  that  one  of 
that  day  would  scarcely  be  distinguished  from  one  of  this, 
saving  the  article  of  hoops.  The  dress  fell  naturally  without 
hoops,  and  the  broad  collar  fell  gracefully  on  the  shoulders. 
On  the  head  was  the  broad,  high-crowned  hat. 

With  the  return  of  the  merry  monarch,  Charles  II, 
fashion  again  regained  her  throne.^  "  Taste  and  elegance 
were  abandoned  for  extravagance  and  folly;  and  the  male 


'Manners  and  Customs,  61.    ^Idem,  188.    Udem,  190.    *Idem,  191. 


Manners  and  Customs,  ii,  194.    ^  Idem,  339.    ^  Idem,  242. 


1 


206 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY 


207 


#1 


costume,  which,  in  the  time  of  Charles  I,  had  reached 
the  highest  point  of  picturesque  splendor,  degenerated 
and  decHned  from  this  moment,  and  expired  in  the  square 
coat,  cocked  hat,  full-bottomed  wig,  and  jack  boots  of 
the  following  century."  The  peruke,  or  periwig  dates  from 
the  reign  of  Charles  11. 

The  beauties  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II  are  thus  de- 
scribed:  "their  glossy  ringlets,  escaping  from  a  simple 
bandeau  of  pearls,  or  adorned  by  a  single  rose,  fall  in 
graceful  profusion  upon  snowy  necks,  uu veiled  by  even 
tlie  transparent  lawn  of  the  band  or  the  partlet ;  and  the 
fair  round  arm,  bare  to  the  elbow,  reclines  upon  the  vo- 
luptuous satin  petticoat ;  ^  while  the  gown,  of  the  same  rich 
material,  piles  up  its  voluminous  train  in  the  back  ground." 

The  reign  of  queen  Anne,  1702,  banished  the  costume  of 
chivalry  except  the  sword,  and  that,  even  at  the  present 
day,  is  necessary  to  complete  the  full  dress  of  the  court  of 

St.  James.^ 

"  Square  cut  coats  and  long  flapped  waistcoats  with  pock- 
ets in  them,  the  latter  meeting  the  stockings,  still  drawn 
up  over  the  knee  so  high  as  to  entirely  conceal  the 
breeches,  but  gartered  below  it ;  large  hanging  cuffs  and 
lace  ruffles  ;  the  skirts  of  the  coats  stiffened  out  with  wire, 
or  buckram,  from  beneath  which  peeped  the  hilt  of  the 
sword,  deprived  of  the  broad  and  splendid  belt,  in  which 
it  swung  in  the  preceding  reigns;  blue  or  scarlet  silk 
stocking;  lace  neckcloths;  square-toed  short  quartered 
shoes,  with  high  red  heels  and  small  buckles ;  very  long 
and  formally  curled  perukes,  black  riding  wigs,  bag  wigs, 
and  night-cap  wigs ;  small  three-cornered  hats,  laced  with 
gold  or  silver  galloon,  and  sometimes  trimmed  with 
feathers,  composed  the  habit  of  the  noblemen  during  the 
reigns  of  Queen  Anne  and  George  I." 

During  the  reigns  of  the  first,  second  and  third  Georges, 
hats    underwent    great  changes;    the  old   three-cornered 


cocked  hat  having  found  a  refuge  on  the  heads  of  the  state- 
coachmen  ;  while  the  wig,  in  the  last  half  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  gradually  diminished  in  size,  the  practice  of  friz- 
zing, plastering,  and  powdering  the  hair,  coming  in  to 
supersede  its  use.  The  square  cut  coat  and  long-flapped 
w\T>istcoat  of  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  and  the  first  two 
Georges,  underwent  an  alteration  about  the  middle  of  the 
reign  of  their  successor.  The  skirts  were  unstiffened  and 
the  waists  shortened,  and  the  cut  of  the  present  court  suit 
introduced. 

It  has  been  well  remarked  that  "fashion  has  been  such 
a  varying  goddess,  that  neither  history,  tradition  nor  paint- 
ing, has  been  able  to  preserve  all  her  mimic  forms.^  In 
1735,  a  lady's  dress  was  short,  and  very  much  like  a  great 
drum  ;  and  in  1745,  it  was  even  wider.  Indeed  the  fashions 
of  women's  dresses  are  like  a  weathercock,  always  chang- 
ing and  never  fixed." 

Fourth.  Their  social  habits  and  customs.^  The  ancient 
Britons  were  hospitable.  The  stranger  was  ever  made 
welcome,  and  if  he  washed  himself  in  the  water  furnished, 
and  delivered  his  arms  to  the  master  of  the  house,  it  was 
equivalent  to  a  consent  to  spend  at  least  one  night  with 
the  family.  Then  they  prepared  a  meal,  introduced  the 
harp  and  made  merry.  They  were  great  feasters,  there 
being  no  public  assembly,  no  marriage,  no  birthday,  no 
treaty  of  peace  or  alliance,  not  even  a  funeral,  without  a 
jolly  time  of  feasting.^  Many  of  their  feasts  lasted  for  a 
week,  sometimes  longer.  They  sat  in  a  circle  upon  the 
ground,  their  seats  being  grass,  hay,  or  the  skins  of  animals. 
They  took  up  the  meat  with  their  hands  tearing  it  off  with 
their  teeth.*  They  took  their  little  children  in  the  winter 
time  to  some  stream  or  lake,  and  plunged  them  into  it,  to 
harden  their  bodies. 

They  sometimes  buried  their  dead,  but  the  South  Britons 
oftener  burned  them.*^    lu  the  former  case  they  buried  with 


Manners  and  CuMmm,  244.    "  Idem,  246. 


Manners  and  Customs,  249.  "  Idem,  18.  '  Idem,  19.  *  Idem,  20.  ^  Idem,  23. 


1 


208 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


them  their  swords,  bows,  and  arrows,  and  generally  their 
dogs.  In  the  latter  they  sometimes  consigned  to  the  same 
fire  those  friends,  servants,  animals  and  things  in  which 
the  deceased  was  known  mostly  to  have  delighted.  The 
most  important  and  solemn  thing  was  the  funeral  song, 
which  recited  the  good  qualities  of  the  deceased,  and  was 
sung  by  a  number  of  bards  to  the  music  of  their  harps. 
On  this  song  they  thought  depended  the  rest  and  happi- 
ness of  the  soul  in  the  world  to  come. 

The  period  of  courtship  was  brief.  The  authority  of  the 
father  was  absolute.*  •  The  husband  had  a  right  of  chastis- 
ing his  wife  in  three  cases.  1.  Infidelity  to  his  bed.  2. 
Embezzling  his  goods.  3.  Abusing  his  beard.  Among 
them  the  law  of  succession  was  that  at  a  man's  death  his 
property  was  equally  divided  among  his  sons.  The  highest 
ranks  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  lived  in  a  kind  of  rude  pomp 
surrounded  by  oflicers,  friends  and  servants.  Both  Saxons 
and  Danes  were  even  fonder  of  feasting  and  merry-making 
than  the  ancient  Britons,^  They  lived  chiefly  upon  pork 
and  fish,  drinking  large  quantities  of  ale  and  mead.  The 
Thanes  spent  a  large  portion  of  their  time  in  giving  enter- 
tainments to  their  friends  and  followers.  The  wealthy  sat 
at  a  table  raised  above  that  of  the  inferior  guests.  Horns 
were  much  used  at  table,  glass  vessels  being  little  known 
prior  to  the  ISTorman  conquest.  The  harpers  andgleemenj 
or  merry  makers,  were  important  characters  at  Anglo-Saxon 
festivals.  The  latter  were  jugglers  and  pantomimists,  as 
well  as  minstrels;  were  accustomed  to  associate  in  com- 
panies, and  amuse  by  displays  of  feats  of  strength  and 
agility,  dancing  and  slight  of  hand  tricks.^ 

The  minstrel  proper  came  with  the  conquest,  and  en- 
joyed many  special  privileges.'*  His  person  being  held 
sacred,  he  could  travel  in  perfect  safety  from  place  to  place 
in  time  of  war  as  well  as  of  peace,  and  wherever  he  went 
was  received  with  the  warmest  welcome  and  hospitality. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


209 


. 


Every  great  baron  kept  a  jester  as  a  part  of  his  household 
establishment. 

The  marriage  ceremonies  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  and 
Danes  were  preceded  by  a  day  spent  in  feasting  and 
merriment.^  The  next  morning  the  bride  was  escorted 
with  great  ceremony  to  the  house  of  her  future  husband. 
There  the  nuptial  benediction  was  given,  and  both  bride 
and  bridegroom  crowned  by  the  priest  with  crowns  made 
of  flowers.  The  wedding  dresses  were  only  used  on  that 
occasion.  On  retiring  at  night  they  drank  of  the  marriage 
cup  with  all  who  were  present.  Early  on  the  following 
morning,  before  the  two  arose,  the  company  assembled  in 
the  bedroom  to  hear  the  husband  declare  what  was  called 
the  morning  gift,  or  what  settlement  and  indulgences  he 
would  allow  his  wife.  That  being  declared,  his  relations 
undertook  to  see  the  promise  performed.  Then  feasting 
and  rejoicing  continued  for  several  days.  In  case  of 
adultery  by  the  wife,  the  husband  cut  ofl^her  hair,  stripped 
her  almost  naked,  turned  her  out  of  his  house,  and  whipped 
her  from  one  end  of  the  village  to  the  other.  After  this, 
her  character  was  irrecoverably  lost. 

The  Anglo-Saxons  were  superstitious  and  sought  to  fore- 
tell future  events.  This  they  endeavored  to  accomplish  by 
bits  of  wood,  distinguished  by  different  marks,^  or  by  the 
singing  or  flight  of  birds,  or  the  neighing  of  horses,  par- 
ticularly those  of  a  white  color. 

With  the  N"ormans  came  the  age  of  chivalry.  They 
were  originally  from  the  same  parent  stem  as  the  Danes 
and  Saxons,  but  important  modifications  had  occurred  from 
their  long  residence  in  Normandy.  *' They  became  dis- 
tinguished throughout  Europe  for  their  military  skill,  their 
love  of  glory,  their  encouragement  of  literature,  the  splen- 
dor of  their  habiliments,^  the  cleanliness  of  their  persons, 
and  the  courtesy  of  their  demeanor."  To  the  Anglo-Nor- 
mans is  owing  the  introduction  of  many  elegancies  and 


*  Manners  and  Customs,  26.    '  Idem,  45.    '  Mem,  46.    *  Idem,  47. 


*  Maimers  and  Customs,  50.    '  Idem,  51,  52.    '  Idein,  72. 
VI]  27 


210 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


refinements  in  the  habits  of  common  life  and  customs  of 
the  table.  The  l^ormans  were  more  temperate  in  eating 
and  drinking  than  the  Saxons.*  They  had  only  two  meals 
a  day,  dinner  and  supper;  dining  at  nine  o'clock  a.  m.  and 
supping  at  5  p.  m.,  according  to  the  following  lines : 

To  rise  at  five,  to  dine  at  nine, 
To  sup  at  five,  to  bed  at  nine. 
Make  a  man  live  to  ninety-nine. 

The  ]N"ormans,  however,  grew  less  temperate  after  they  had 
for  some  time  lived  in  the  country. 

The  custom  of  tolling  the  curfew  bell  at  eight  o'clock 
every  evening,  which  is  still  kept  up  in  some  parts  of  the 
country,  dates  back  to  the  time  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
by  whose  command,^  the  bell  was  tolled  at  that  hour  every 
night,  that  the  people  might  know  when  to  put  out  their 
fires  and  lights. 

The  ages  of  feudalism  and  chivalry,  through  which  the 
English  people  passed  upon  the  accession  of  the  Norman, 
in  their  relations  to  society,  have  already  been  briefly  con- 
sidered. Towards  the  conclusion  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
the  wealthy  barons  began  to  discontinue  dining  in  tlieir 
great  halls  with  their  dependents,  which  had  been  their 
former  custom;  ^  and  in  the  place  of  it  their  dinners  were 
served  up  in  private  parlors  with  a  few  familiar  friends. 
In  the  forepart  of  the  same  century,  eleven  o'clock  a.  m. 
was  the  most  fashionable  dinner  hour,  and  six  p.  m.,  the 
supper  hour.  In  the  reign  of  Richard  11,  1377,  first  occurs 
the  practice  of  the  rich  having  breakfast.  In  the  reign  of 
Edward  III,  1326,*  intemperance  in  eating  and  drinking 
had  rendered  the  English  such  monstrous  gormandizers 
that  a  law  was  passed  forbidding  them  to  have  more  than 
two  courses  at  dinner.  The  drinks  of  the  common  people 
at  this  period  were  ale  and  cider,  but  the  wealthy  con- 
sumed large  quantities  of  foreign  wines.     Down  to  the 


» Manners  and  Cu8t<ms,  79.   '  Idefn,  90.    '  Idem,  113, 114.    *  Idem,  114. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


211 


commencement  of  the  thirteenth  century  there  were  no 
regular  shops,^  but  traders  went  about  like  hawkers  to  sell 

their  goods. 

The  advancement  of  the  English  people  during  the  four- 
teenth century,  has  been  thus  summed  up:  "In  arms 
they  had  won  eternal  and  unrivaled  fame;  in  poetry, 
literature,  and  art,  they  had  made  brilliant  advances. 
Their  churches  were  piles  of  glorious  architecture.  In 
poetry  they  had  a  Chaucer ;  in  architecture,  a  Wykeham  ; 
in  philosophy,  a  Bacon  and  a  Grostete.  Wycliffe  had 
made  the  Bible  common  property,  infusing  new  life  into 
religion,  which  penetrated  the  cottage  and  the  dwelling  of 
the  industrious  citizen.  In  the  constitution,  the  great 
charter  had  been  confirmed,  as  well  as  many  excellent 
statutes,  restraining  the  royal  and  baronial  power,  and 
extending  that  of  the  people.  Gunpowder  and  cannon 
had  been  employed  in  warfare,  making  strong  castles  use- 
less. Manufactures  had  been  introduced  by  the  noble 
Queen  Philippa  of  Ilainault.  As  a  whole,  it  must  be  pro- 
nounced a  distinguished  and  progressive  era,^  which  did 
its  duty  to  the  common  country,  and  to  posterity ;  but  fell 
short  in  the  two  important  domains  of  morals  and  of  hu- 
manity." 

From  the  commencement  to  past  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  the  larger  barons  still  kept  up  their  feu- 
dal style  of  living,  having  their  minstrels,  jesters,  bufibons 
and  tumblers;  their  four  meals  a  day,  breakfasting  at 
seven,  dining  at  ten,  or  rather,  from  ten  to  one,  p.  m.,  being 
in  the  meantime  entertained  by  songs  and  harps,  and  by 
jests,  tricks,  and  dances ;  supping  at  four  in  the  afternoon, 
and  having  a  meal  called  the  livery,  just  before  going  to 
bed.^  The  common  people  were  later  in  their  hours,  and 
had  but  three  meals  a  day,  viz  :  at  eight,  twelve,  and  six. 

Five  times  in  the  year  glutton-masses  were  celebrated  in 
the  churches  by  the  secular  clergy.     Early  in  the  morning 


*  Manners  and  Customs,  133.    "  Idem,  149.    "  Idem,  152, 153. 


210 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


refinements  in  the  habits  of  common  life  and  customs  of 
the  table.  The  Normans  were  more  temperate  in  eating 
and  drinking  than  the  Saxons.^  They  had  only  two  meals 
a  day,  dinner  and  supper;  dining  at  nine  o'clock  a.  m.  and 
supping  at  5  p.  m,,  according  to  the  following  lines : 

To  rise  at  five,  to  dine  at  nine, 
To  sup  at  five,  to  bed  at  nine. 
Make  a  man  live  to  ninety-nine. 

The  I^ormans,  however,  grew  less  temperate  after  they  had 
for  some  time  lived  in  the  country. 

The  custom  of  tolling  the  curfew  bell  at  eight  o'clock 
every  evening,  which  is  still  kept  up  in  some  parts  of  the 
country,  dates  back  to  the  time  of  William  the  Conqueror, 
by  whose  command,^  the  bell  was  tolled  at  that  hour  every 
night,  that  the  people  might  know  when  to  put  out  their 
fires  and  lights. 

The  ages  of  feudalism  and  chivalry,  through  which  the 
English  people  passed  upon  the  accession  of  the  Norman, 
in  their  relations  to  society,  have  already  been  briefly  con- 
sidered. Towards  the  conclusion  of  the  fourteenth  century, 
the  wealthy  barons  began  to  discontinue  dining  in  their 
great  halls  with  their  dependents,  which  had  been  their 
former  custom;^  and  in  the  place  of  it  their  dinners  were 
served  up  in  private  parlors  with  a  few  familiar  friends. 
In  the  forepart  of  the  same  century,  eleven  o'clock  a.  m. 
was  the  most  fashionable  dinner  hour,  and  six  p.  m.,  the 
supper  hour.  In  the  reign  of  Richard  11,  1377,  first  occurs 
the  practice  of  the  rich  having  breakfast.  In  the  reign  of 
Edward  III,  1326,*  intemperance  in  eating  and  drinking 
had  rendered  the  English  such  monstrous  gormandizers 
that  a  law  was  passed  forbidding  them  to  have  more  than 
two  courses  at  dinner.  The  drinks  of  the  common  people 
at  this  period  were  ale  and  cider,  but  the  wealthy  con- 
sumed large  quantities  of  foreign  wines.     Down   to  the 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


211 


'  Manmrs  and  CustoTus,  79.    '  Idem,  90.    '  Idem,  113, 114.    *  Idem,  114. 


commencement  of  the  thirteenth  century  there  were  no 
regular  shops,^  but  traders  went  about  like  hawkers  to  sell 
their  goods. 

The  advancement  of  the  English  people  during  the  four- 
teenth century,  has  been  thus  summed  up:  "In  arms 
they  had  won  eternal  and  unrivaled  fame;  in  poetry, 
literature,  and  art,  they  had  made  brilliant  advances. 
Their  churches  were  piles  of  glorious  architecture.  In 
poetry  they  had  a  Chaucer ;  in  architecture,  a  Wykeham  ; 
in  philosophy,  a  Bacon  and  a  Grostete.  WyclifFe  had 
made  the  Bible  common  property,  infusing  new  life  into 
religion,  which  penetrated  the  cottage  and  the  dwelling  of 
the  industrious  citizen.  In  the  constitution,  the  great 
charter  had  been  confirmed,  as  well  as  many  excellent 
statutes,  restraining  the  royal  and  baronial  power,  and 
extending  that  of  the  people.  Gunpowder  and  cannon 
had  been  employed  in  warfare,  making  strong  castles  use- 
less. Manufactures  had  been  introduced  by  the  noble 
Queen  Philippa  of  Hainault.  As  a  whole,  it  must  be  pro- 
nounced a  distinguished  and  progressive  era,^  which  did 
its  duty  to  the  common  country,  and  to  posterity ;  but  fell 
short  in  the  two  important  domains  of  morals  and  of  hu- 
manity." 

From  the  commencement  to  past  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  the  larger  barons  still  kept  up  their  feu- 
dal style  of  living,  having  their  minstrels,  jesters,  buffoons 
and  tumblers;  their  four  meals  a  day,  breakfasting  at 
seven,  dining  at  ten,  or  rather,  from  ten  to  one,  p.  m.,  being 
in  the  meantime  entertained  by  songs  and  harps,  and  by 
jests,  tricks,  and  dances ;  supping  at  four  in  the  afternoon, 
and  having  a  meal  called  the  livery,  just  before  going  to 
bed.^  The  common  people  were  later  in  their  hours,  and 
had  but  three  meals  a  day,  viz  :  at  eight,  twelve,  and  six. 

Five  times  in  the  year  glutton-masses  were  celebrated  in 
the  churches  by  the  secular  clergy.     Early  in  the  morning 


^Manners  and  Customs,  132.    ^  Idem,  149.    *  Idem,  152, 153. 


212 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


213 


the  people  brought  into  the  church  roasted  and  boiled 
meats  and  strong  drinks,  and  as  soon  as  the  mass  was 
ended/  they  all  fell  to,  and  finished  the  day  in  riot  and  in- 
temperance, the  feast  itself  finally  degenerating  into  an 
orgy. 

At  this  period,  all  ranks  were  extremely  hospitable,  es- 
pecially the  wealthy.  Neville,  earl  of  "Warwick,  the  last 
of  the  barons,  was  accustomed  to  have  six  oxen  eaten  at 
a  breakfast,  and  no  fewer  than  thirty  thousand  people  are 
said  to  have  lived  daily  at  his  expense  in  his  difierent 
manors  and  castles. 

Post-horses  and  stages,  or  regular  resting  places,  date 
their  origin  from  the  time  of  Richard  III,  1483. 

About  those  times  a  very  singular  charge  of  sorcery  was 
made  against  the  Duchess  of  Gloucester.  The  allegation 
was  that  she  had  procured  from  an  accomplice  a  wax  fig- 
ure, which  was  so  moulded  by  art,  that  when  placed 
before  the  fire,  as  it  melted  away,  the  flesh  of  the  king 
would  melt  aw^ay  also,^  his  marrow  dry  up,  and  his  health 
fade. 

In  the  sixteenth  century  there  was  great  formality  and 
severity  of  manners  in  families.  The  aged  were  haughty 
and  reserved,  exacting  from  the  young  the  most  abject 
deference.  No  child  presumed  to  sit  in  the  presence  of  its 
parents,  or  to  speak  without  permission.  The  son  stood 
uncovered  and  silent  in  the  father's  presence,^  the  daugh- 
ters like  statues  by  the  doorway,  not  being  permitted  to  sit 
without  leave.  A  formality  somewhat  similar  even  now 
prevails  in  the  palaces  of  kings. 

The  English  of  this  period  are  described  as  gross  eaters, 
and  great  drunkards;  as  extremely  fond  of  good  cheer,  and 
frolic-making,  merry-making  and  music ;  as  rude  in  man- 
ners, and  disorderly  in  all  their  habits.  In  the  Elizabethan 
age,  the  breakfast  hour  was  at  eiglit  o'clock,^  the  dinner  hour 
at  eleven,  and  the  supper  hour  at  six.     At  entertainments  a 


r 


4 


c*i 


salt  cellar  was  placed  in  the  middle  of  the  table,  and  the 
rank  of  the  guests  was  discriminated  by  their  situation 
above  or  below  it. 

When  Henry  VIII  proclaimed  himself  the  head  of  the 
English  church,  and  gave  the  people  permission  to  read 
the  Bible  in  their  own  language,  the  custom  was  adopted 
of  chaining  a  Bible  to  the  reading  desk  of  every  parish 
church  in  the  country,  to  which  access  was  had  at  all 
hours  of  the  day.  The  consequence  was  that  the  churches 
were  daily  crowded,  and  thousands  learned  to  read  for  the 
sole  purpose  of  reading  the  scriptures.^ 

From  the  restoration  of  Charles  II,  in  1660,  to  the  reign 
of  George  II,  a  period  of  seventy  years,  the  national  mo- 
rality was  at  a  very  low  ebb.  Men  were  knavish,  intri- 
guing, unscrupulous.  "  They  hid  their  hatred  in  a  smile, 
and  their  infamy  in  a  bow."  Even  women  of  rank  were 
destitute  of  delicacy  and  probity.^  They  mingled  with 
men  in  taverns,  amid  tobacco  smoke,  obscene  songs,  and 
conversation  of  the  most  ribald  character.  They  were 
desperate  gamblers,  and  both  sexes  seemed  to  unite  their 
efforts  to  make  debauchery  and  villainy  fashionable.  The 
practice  of  duelling,  the  remnant  of  the  age  of  chivalry,  was 
rendered  fashionable  at  this  period,  and  prevailed  more 
than  it  ever  has  at  anv  other  before  or  since.* 

During  the  reign  of  James  I,  family  pride  greatly  pre- 
vailed ;  the  wealthy  distinguished  themselves  from  the 
poor  by  a  conceited  demeanor,*  an  expensive  style  of  liv- 
ing, an  exhibition  of  pomp  and  show,  and  the  attendance 
of  a  numerous  retinue. 

Probably  no  greater  social  contrast  was  ever  presented 
among  the  same  people  than  that  presented  by  the  puri- 
tans and  cavaliers  during  the  English  revolution  and  reign 
of  the  commonwealth.  The  cavaliers  were  a  jolly  set  of 
merrymakers,  who  lived  for  no  other  purpose  than  enjoy- 
ment.    Deriding  everything  solemn  and  religious,  sneering 


^  Manners  and  Cmtonis,  155.    ^ Idem,  178.    ^ Idem,  183.    * /(itJWi,  184. 


^Manners  and  Customs,  211.    ^ Idem,  221.    ^ Idem,  22S.    *Id€7n,22i, 


214 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


at  priests  and  cburches,  flippant  in  oaths  and  blasphemies, 
destitute  of  principle,  attached  to  drink  and  debauchery, 
they  spent  their  lives  in  feeding  upon  the  pleasures  and 
vanities  of  the  hour,  without  ever  appearing  to  realize  any 
of  the  responsibilities  of  existence.  On  the  other  hand 
was  the  puritan  in  his  straight,  plain,  sober-colored  dress, 
studiously  avoiding  all  ornament,  as  if  it  were  a  pest;  his 
manners  and  social  maxims  grave,  harsh,  and  even  repul- 
sive; using  a  sedate  and  chastened  style  of  speech  ;  full  of 
reverence  for  sound  and  Christian  principles;  believing 
and  acting  upon  the  principle  that  life  was  a  gift  granted 
upon  severe  conditions;  that  its  mission  was  to  perform 
duties  and  not  to  enjoy  pleasures;  that  everything  here 
was  significant  of  realities ;  everything  had  a  solemn  mean- 
ing; and  that  if  enjoyment  was  to  be  found  anywhere  it 
was  in  the  performance  of  duty,  and  in  always  so  feeling, 
thinking  and  acting  as  to  secure  the  approbation  of  a  con- 
science formed  upon  Bible  doctrines.  They  revered  God 
and  his  word,  were  obedient  to  law,  and  devoted  to  truth 
and  justice.  They  were  not  pure  stoics  in  their  belief,  and 
yet  they  had  much  of  the  lofty  sentiment  that  constituted 
the  stoic  philosophy.  With  such  marked  characters  and 
contrasts,  the  success  of  the  puritans,  or  independents, 
under  Cromwell,  could  be  easily  predicted  without  possess- 
ing the  spirit  of  prophecy.  They  marched  to  battle,  as 
they  marched  to  church,  under  a  solemn  sense  of  duty. 
The  cavaliers,  although  inured  to  war,  and  naturally  brave, 
melted  away  before  a  self-constituted  soldiery,  who  sent  up 
the  morning  and  evening  prayer,  and  marched  on  to  the 
conflict  singing  psalms  and  hymns.  Having  once  attained 
power  England  was  merry  England  no  longer.  They 
carried  everywhere  the  utmost  severity.  Kymphs  and 
graces,  the  work  of  Ionian  chisels,^  were  handed  over  to 
puritan  stonemasons  to  be  made  decent.  All  betting  was 
prohibited.     Adultery  was  punished  with  death.     Public 


Manners  and  Customs,  228. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


215 


amusements,  from  the  masks  exhibited  at  the  mansions  of 
the  great,  down  to  the  wrestling  matches  and  grinning 
matches  on  village  greens,  were  vigorously  attacked. 
May-poles  were  hewn  down,  theatrical  diversions  proscribed, 
play-houses  dismantled,  bear-baiting  totally  forbidden,  and 
rope-dancing,  puppet  shows,  bowls,  and  horse-racing,  were 
all  regarded  with  no  friendly  eye.  The  long  parliament 
even  laid  its  ruthless  hand  on  Christmas,  a  day  that  had 
ever  been  devoted  to  national  jollity,  to  hilarity,  feasting 
and  enjoyment,  and  enacted  that  it  should  be  strictly 
observed  as  a  fast,  and  that  all  men  should  pass  it  in  hum- 
bly bemoaning  the  great  national  sin,  which  they  and  their 
fathers  had  so  often  committed  on  that  day,  by  romping 
under  the  mistletoe,  eating  boar's  head,  and  drinking  ale 
flavored  with  roasted  apples.* 

Although  there  was  a  reaction  against  these  severe 
reforms  introduced  by  the  puritans,  yet  there  can  remain 
no  doubt  of  the  purifying  influence  they  ultimately  exerted 
upon  English  character.  "  From  the  accession  of  Queen 
Anne  to  the  present  day,  the  morality  of  the  English  has 
greatly  improved  ;  and  though  it  is  now  far  from  being  what 
it  ought  to  be,  considering  the  vast  number  of  men  who 
profess  to  preach  Christiantiy,^  yet  for  religion,  morality, 
courage,  honesty,  sobriety,  and  manliness,  old  England 
ranks  first  in  the  great  family  of  nations." 

The  acts  of  the  long  parliament  furnish  by  no  means 
the  only  instance  in  which  legislation  has  been  invoked  to 
mend  the  social  state.  In  1770  an  act  was  passed  providing 
"that  all  women,  of  whatever  age,^  rank,  profession,  or  de- 
gree, whether  virgins,  maids,  or  widows,  that  shall,  from 
and  after  such  act,  impose  upon,  seduce,  and  betray  into 
matrimony,  any  of  his  majesty's  male  subjects,  by  the  scents, 
paints,  cosmetic  washes,  artificial  teeth,  false  hair,  Spanish 
wool,  iron  stays,  hoops,  high-heeled  shoes,  etc.,  shall  incur 
the  penalty  of  the  law  now  in  force  against  witchcraft  and 


Manners  and  Customs,  230.    =  Idem,  231, 232.    ^Ide7n,  261,  262. 


■WM 


216 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


like  misdemeanors,  and  that  the  marriage,  upon  convic- 
tion, shall  stand  null  and  void."  It  is  to  be  hoped  that 
by  means  of  such  severe  legislation,  his  majesty's  male 
subjects  were  enabled  to  escape  the  many  snares  that  seem 
to  have  been  so  artfully  laid  to  entrap  them. 

Fifth,  The  sports,  pastimes  and  amusements  of  the 
English  people. 

A  brief  reference  to  some  of  the  most  important  of  these 
will  aid  essentially  in  giving  a  clearer  insight  into  the 
English  character.  When  a  people  unbend  themselves, 
and  relax  from  the  severer  cares  and  business  of  life,  the 
direction  which  their  sports,  pastimes,  and  amusements  take 
will  indicate  very  clearly  the  true  bent  and  tendencies  of 
their  disposition  and  character.  To  justify  the  appellation 
of  merry  England  it  is  necessary  that  the  English  people 
should  have  developed  themselves  in  various  sports,  pas- 
times and  amusements. 

A  kind  of  sport  that  from  the  earliest  times  has  occupied 
the  attention  of  the  English  is  that  of  hunting.  The 
ancient  Britons  were  hunters.  Those,  especially  of  the 
northern  parts  of  England,  acquired  much  of  their  subsist- 
ence by  hunting.  The  Saxons,  in  common  with  other 
German  nations,  were  strongly  attached  to  the  sports  of 
the  field.  Under  their  rule  the  privileges  of  hunting  were 
restricted,  being  gradually  withdrawn  from  the  people  and 
appropriated  by  the  chiefs  and  leaders.  As  early  as  the 
ninth  century,  hunting  constituted  an  essential  part  of  the 
education  of  a  young  nobleman.^ 

The  Danes,  equally  with  the  Saxons,  were  possessed  of 
the  hunting  propensity ;  but  it  was  the  Norman  who  re- 
duced this  sport  to  a  system  as  severely  oppressive  upon 
the  common  people  on  the  one  side,  as  it  contributed  to 
the  enjoyment  of  the  king  and  his  barons  upon  the  other. 
Under  his  rule,  thousands  of  acres  were  withdrawn  from 
the  purposes  of  husbandry  and  enclosed  in  parks  for  the 


*  ^TuWs  Sports,  3. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


217 


rearing  of  deer  and  other  game,  for  the  chase  and  slaughter. 
For  the  protection  of  game  a  system  of  game  laws  came  to 
be  established,  most  oppressive  in  their  character,  requir- 
ing the  life  of  a  man  as  an  equivalent  for  the  killing  of  a 
hare.  So  oppressive  were  these  laws  that  their  modific  a- 
tion  found  an  appropriate  place  in  the  forest  charter  which 
was  wrenched  from  King  John. 

So  popular  has  this  sport  been  among  the  higher  classes, 
that  even  ladies  have  frequently  embarked  in  it,  sometime* 
accompanying  the  gentlemen,^  at  other  times  forming 
hunting  parties  by  themselves.  In  the  fourteenth  century 
they  rode  horseback  in  precisely  the  same  manner  as  meu.^ 

The  animals  hunted  were  in  three  classes,  the  first  includ- 
ing the  hare,  the  hart,  the  wolf  and  wild  boar;  the  second, 
the  buck,  the  doe,  the  fox,  the  martin  and  the  roe ;  and  the 
third,  the  gary  or  badger,  the  wild  cat  and  the  otter. 

Great  care  was  taken  in  rearing  dogs  for  the  chase.  For 
this  purpose  they  made  use  tbr  the  grayhound,  and  the  bull- 
dog, and  also  the  mastiti:*  and  the  spaniel,  the  latter  espe- 
cially for  hawking. 

The  sportsmen  have  had  various  methods  of  hunting,  some 
requiring  the  hunter  to  be  on  horseback  and  some  on  foot. 
Sometimes  this  exercise  took  place  in  the  open  country ; 
sometimes  in  woods  and  thickets,  sometimes  in  parks, 
chases  and  forests,  where  the  game  was  usually  enclosed 
with  a  hegde  or  fence-work  of  netting,  supported  by  posts 
driven  into  the  ground  for  that  purpose.^  It  was  always 
attended  with  the  highest  degree  of  excitement,  resulting 
in  the  almost  total  self-abandonment  of  those  who  entered 
fully  into  it.  The  winding  of  the  hunter's  horn,  the  rapid 
flight  of  the  deer,  the  eager  pursuit  of  the  barking  pack  of 
dogs,  the  hunters  on  their  fleet  horses,  all  tend  to  render 
the  whole  scene  one  of  deep  and  absorbing  interest. 

The  game  is  pursued  by  its  scent,  and  hence  it  becomes 
important  for  the  hunter  to  determine  when  that  is  the 


'8truU,n,ld.    Udem,U.    Vdm,  20, 
VI]  28 


218 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


best.  And  with  reference  to  that  tbe  following  rule  is 
laid  down  :  "  When  the  tobacco  smoke  seems  to  bang 
lazily  in  tbe  air,  scarcely  sinking  or  rising,  or  moving  Irom 
tbe  place  where  it  is  emitted  from  tbe  pipe,  producing  at 
tbe  same  time  a  strong  smell,  which  lasts  some  time 
in  tbe  same  place,^  after  tbe  smoke  is  apparently  dis- 
persed, we  may,  on  that  day,  be  sure  that  tbe  scent  will 
lay  well." 

It  is  remarked  by  an  old  writer  of  the  twelfth  century, 
John  of  Salisbury,  that  bunting  and  hawking  are  esteemed 
the  most  honorable  employments  by  the  nobility,  who 
think  it  the  height  of  worldly  felicity,  to  spend  tbe  whole 
of  their  time  in  these  diversions,  preparing  for  them  with 
more  solicitude,  expense,  and  parade,  than  they  do  for 
war;  and  pursuing  tbe  wild  beasts  with  greater  fury  than 
they  do  tbe  enemies  of  their  country.^  "  By  constantly  fol- 
lowing this  way  of  life,  they  lose  much  of  their  liumanity, 
and  become  as  savage,  nearly,  as  the  very  brutes  th  ey  bunt." 
This  strongly  expresses  tbe  moral  eflect  of  a  sport  or  pas- 
time which  no  one  can  doubt,  has  for  more  than  a  thousand 
years,  either  for  good  or  evil,  run  its  thread  of  adamant 
through  tbe  English  character.  While  it  has  tended  to 
give  it  hardihood,  and  power  of  persisting,  it  has  invested 
it  with  that  pluck  and  indomitable  energy,  that  has 
carried  British  arms  and  arts  in  triumph  over  tbe  world. 

Another  sport  nearly  allied  to  that  of  hunting,  was 
hawking ;  the  art  of  training  and  flying  of  hawks  for  the 
purpose  of  catching  other  birds,  and  which  was  frequently 
termed  falconry.  This  was  a  country  pastime,  and  prac- 
ticed by  both  sexes,  as  well  on  foot  as  on  horseback.  Its 
origin  dates  as  far  back  as  tbe  middle  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury. It  was  highly  esteemed  by  tbe  Anglo-Saxon  nobility, 
and  under  the  Norman  rule  it  became  oppressive  by  its 
limitation  to  the  larger  barons.  The  hawk  was  so  trained 
that,  when  loosed,  it  would,  when  on  tbe  wing,  seize  upon 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


219 


!■ 


'• 


its  prey,  and  return  with  it  to  tbe  falconer.  This  sport 
commenced  waning  from  the  discovery  and  use  of  fire- 
arms, as  they  were  found  much  more  eflfectual  than  tbe 
hawk  in  bringing  down  birds,  even  when  on  tbe  wing.  It 
expired  with  tbe  seventeenth  century. 

Another  sport  of  a  character  allied  to  bunting  is  horse- 
racing.  This  seems  to  have  been  known  and  practiced 
by  the  Anglo-Saxons,  but  was  probably  confined  to  persons 
of  rank  and  opulence,  and  practiced  only  by  way  of  amuse- 
ment. In  tbe  middle  ages  the  nobility  indulged  themselves 
in  running  horses  in  certain  seasons  of  the  year,  and  more 
especially  during  tbe  Easter  and  Whitsuntide  holidays. 

Tbe  Chester  races,  and  probably  most  of  tbe  others, 
owed  their  institution  originally  merely  to  amusement; 
but  in  tbe  course  of  time,  they  furnished  occasions  for 
betting,  and  large  sums  were  usually  dependent  upon  the 
event  of  each  race.  Thus,  although  originally  a  liberal 
pastime,  and  practiced  for  pleasure  rather  than  profit,  yet 
it  ultimately  degenerated  into  a  system  of  gambling,  so 
that  Burton,  near  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century,^ 
says  that  "  horse  races  are  desports  of  great  men,  and  good 
in  themselves,  though  many  gentlemen  by  such  means 
gallop  quite  out  of  their  fortunes." 

Another  art  carried  to  a  high  degree  of  perfection  in 
England,  and  which  was  originally  conspicuous  as  a  mode 
of  warfare  and  subsequently  as  a  sport,  was  archery. 
From  being  a  fearful  instrument  of  destruction  in  war,  it 
became  in  peace  an  object  of  amusement. 

Both  the  Anglo-Saxons  and  Danes  were  acquainted  with 
the  use  of  the  bow.^  So  also  the  Kormans  used  the  bow 
as  a  military  weapon,  and  both  improved  and  diftused  the 
practice  of  archery.  When  it  became  an  amusement  the 
ladies  were  accustomed  to  practice  it. 

In  the  thirteenth  century  every  man  with  a  small  annual 
income  was  obliged  to  have  in  bis  possession  a  bow  and 


'  Erne's  Every  Bay  Book,  1. 1378.    '  Strutt,  6. 


'StruM,'kri.    V(ftv/;,  50. 


220 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


221 


arrows.'  There  were  two  kinds  of  bows,  the  cross  bow  and 
the  long  bow.  The  latter  were  those  the  most  commonly 
possessed  by  the  English.  By  an  ordinance  of  Edward  IV, 
every  man  was  to  have  a  bow  of  his  own  height.^  The 
arrows  made  use  of  at  the  battle  of  Agin  court  were  a  full 
yard  in  length.  The  bow  string  might  be  made  of  hemp, 
or  flax,  or  silk.  The  arrow  had  three  essential  parts,  viz: 
the  stete  or  wand,  the  feathers,  and  the  head.  The  inven- 
tion and  introduction  of  fire-arms  entirely  superseded  the 
use  of  the  bow  in  war,  or  in  hunting,  and  thus  limited 
archery  to  be  merely  practiced  as  an  amusement.  It  is  now 
much  less  practiced  for  that  purpose  than  it  was  formerly. 

Another  manly  exercise,  and  which  requires  a  good  deal 
of  art  to  practice  it  effectively,  is  that  of  slinging.  The 
Saxons  also  seem  to  have  been  skillful  in  the  management 
of  the  sling.^  It  was  used  by  them  as  far  back  as  the 
eighth  century.  These  were  also  instruments  of  war. 
Sometimes  the  sling  was  attached  to  a  staff  or  truncheon 
three  or  four  feet  in  length,  wielded  with  both  hands,  and 
charged  with  a  stone  of  considerable  size.  These  slings 
were  used  in  besieging  cities,  and  on  ships  in  engage- 
ments at  sea.  Men  armed  with  slings  formed  a  part  of 
the  Anglo-Norman  soldiery,  but  their  use  was  almost  en- 
tirely superseded  by  the  bow  at  the  commencement  of  the 
fifteenth  century.  It  required  much  practice  to  handle  this 
instrument  with  much  certainty,^  for  if  the  stone,  in  the  act 
of  throwing,  was  ejected  from  the  sling,  either  sooner  or 
later  than  it  should  be,  the  desired  effect  was  sure  to  fail. 

Throwing  the  spear,  or  javelin,  was  also  a  military  exer- 
cise, but  was  sometimes  practiced  as  a  trial  of  strength, 
when  it  was  attempted  to  throw  it  beyond  a  certain  boun- 
dary, or  to  exceed  a  competitor  in  distance;  and  of  skill, 
when  the  spear  was  cast  at  a  (|uintain,  or  any  other 
determined  mark.  It  was  one  of  the  sports  of  the  Lon- 
doners in  the  reign  of  Henry  11. 


t 


The  pitching  of  quoits,  or  coits,  is  a  mere  pastime  or 
amusement,  and  the  exercise  of  it  depends  less  upon  supe- 
rior strength  than  superior  skill.  This  game  has  continued 
its  popularity  to  the  present  time. 

Foot-racing,  in  the  middle  ages,  was  considered  an  es- 
sential part  of  a  young  man's  education.'  Two  centuries 
back,  running  was  deemed  an  exercise  by  no  means  dero- 
gatory to  the  rank  of  nobility,  but  in  the  present  day,  foot 
races  are  little  encouraged  by  persons  of  fortune,  and  seldom 
happen  but  for  the  purpose  of  betting. 

Wrestling  is  at  the  present  time  confined  to  the  lower 
class  of  the  people.  It  formerly  was  practiced  among  the 
higher  classes.^  The  inhabitants  of  Cornwall  and  Devon 
have  been  celebrated  for  their  expertness  in  this  sport. 
The  Cornish  hug  has  been  a  proverbial  expression.  The 
citizens  of  London  were  formerly  expert  in  the  practice  of 
this  art,  and  were  accustomed  annually  to  indulge  in  it. 
Its  decline  among  the  higher  classes  was  followed  by  a 
slower  one  among  the  lower,  until  it  became,  as  we  now 
find  it,  confined  pretty  much  to  wakes  and  fairs,  where  it  is 
still  occasionally  witnessed.  The  art,  as  practiced  two  cen- 
turies ago,  is  thus  described  by  Carew :  "The  beholders 
then  cast  or  form  themselves  into  a  ring,  in  the  empty  space 
whereof  the  two  champions  step  forth,  stripped  into  their 
doublets  and  ho.sen,  and  untrussed,  that  they  may  so  the 
better  command  the  use  of  their  lymmes ;  and  first  shaking 
hands,  in  token  of  friendship,  they  fall  presently  to  the 
effect  of  anger ;  for  each  striveth  how  to  take  hold  of  the 
other  with  his  best  advantage,  and  to  bear  his  adverse  party 
downe ;  wherein,  whosoever  overthroweth  his  mate,  in  such 
sort,  as  that  either  his  backe  or  the  one  shoulder,  and  con- 
trary heele  do  touch  the  ground  is  accounted  to  give  the 
fall."^ 

Another  exercise  of  great  antiquity  is  that  of  swimming, 
which  is  mentioned  by  an  old  writer  as  one  of  the  requi- 


'  StruU,  54.    ^  Idem,  03.    "  Iikm,  72.    '  Mw ,  74. 


'Str>'tf,lH.    'I(hni, SO.    \StrHtt,Sd,Si. 


1 


222 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Sites  for  a  complete  gentleman.  So  also  those  of  sliding, 
skating,  rowing,  and  sailing,  have  received  each  their 
proper  share  of  attention. 

Another  sport,  or  pastime,  which  has  presented  a  great 
varietv  in  its  mode*  of  exhibition  is  that  of  ball-pla3'ing. 
The  introduction  of  this  into  England  was  as  early  at  least 
as  the  fourteenth  century.^  In  the  sixteenth,  tennis  courts 
were  common  in  England,  and  this  species  of  ball-playing 
was  much  in  favor  by  the  higher  classes. 

Hurling  was  originally  a  species  of  the  hand  ball,  and  in 
playing  it  the  contending  parties  endeavored  to  force  the  ball 
one  from  the  other,^  and  they  who  could  retain  it  long 
enough  to  cast  it  beyond  an  appointed  boundary  were  the 

conquerors. 

Foot-ball,  where  the  ball  was  driven  about  by  the  feet 
instead  of  the  hands,  was  formerly  much  practiced  by  the 
common  people.  Two  goals  were  here  placed  at  the  dis- 
tance of  eighty  or  an  hundred  yards  from  each  other,  and 
the  object  of  each  party  is  to  drive  the  ball  through  the 
goal  of  their  antagonists,  by  the  achievement  of  which  the 
game  is  won.  When  the  game  gets  at  its  height,  the 
players  become  much  excited,  and  there  is  such  a  kicking 
of  shins  that  some  of  them  are  overthrown  at  the  hazard 
of  their  limbs.^ 

The  gofF,  or  bandy-ball,  required  the  assistance  of  a  club 
or  bat  in  the  playing  of  it.  This  is  played  by  two  players 
having  each  his  bat  and  ball.  The  game  consists  in  driving 
the  ball  into  certain  holes  made  in  the  ground.*  He  who 
achieves  this  in  the  shortest  time,  and  by  the  fewest  num- 
ber of  strokes  secures  the  victory.  The  distance  between 
the  holes  was  sometimes  two  or  three  miles.  There  were 
also  intervening  holes.  The  ball  must  be  struck  into  the 
holes,  and  not  beyond  them.  This  was  a  fashionable  game 
among  the  nobility  at  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth 
century. 


'mrutt,  91,  93.    "  Mem,  98.    '  fdew,  100.    *  hhrn,  102. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


223 


Another  old  game  very  popular  in  the  reign  of  Charles 
H  (and  from  which  the  walk  in  St.  James's  Park,  called 
the  Mall,  received  its  name)  was  the  pall-mall.  In  the 
playing  of  this  a  round  box  ball  is  struck  with  a  mallet, 
through  a  high  arch  of  iron,  which  he  that  can  do  at  the 
fewest  blows,  or  at  the  number  agreed  upon,  wins.  There 
are  two  of  these  arches,  one  at  either  end  of  the  alley. 

The  game,  however,  which  is  more  than  all  others  at  the 
present  day  celebrated  as  an  English  game,  is  that  of 
cricket,  which  is  of  comparatively  recent  origin,  no  trace 
of  it  by  that  name  occurring  earlier  than  the  commence- 
ment of  the  last  century.  This  has  lately  become  very 
popular  among  the  nobility.  It  is  played  with  bat  and  ball, 
and  consists  of  single  and  double  wicket.  The  wicket  has 
experienced  some  change.  It  now  consists  of  three  stumps 
and  two  bails ;  the  middle  stump  being  added  to  prevent 
the  ball  from  passing  through  the  wicket  without  beating 
it  down.  Single  wickets  require  live  players  on  each  side, 
and  double,  eleven.  At  the  former,  the  striker  with  his 
bat  is  the  protector  of  the  wicket,  the  opponent  party 
standing  in  the  field  to  catch  or  stop  the  ball,^  while  the 
bowler,  who,  is  one  of  them,  takes  his  place  by  the  side  of 
a  small  batten,  or  stump,  set  up  for  that  purpose  twenty-two 
yards  from  the  wicket,  and  thence  delivers  the  ball  with 
the  intention  of  beating  it  down.  Two  stumps  are  now 
usually  set  up  with  a  bail  across,  which  the  batsman,  when 
he  runs,  must  beat  oft*  before  he  returns  home.  If  the 
bowler  is  successful  the  batsman  retires  from  the  play  ;  but 
if  the  ball  is  struck  by  the  bat  and  driven  into  the  field, 
the  striker  runs  to  the  stump  at  the  bowler's  station,  touch- 
ing it  with  his  bat  and  then  returning  to  his  wicket.  If 
performed  before  the  ball  is  thrown  back,  it  is  called  a 
run.  If  not,  and  the  wicket  is  beaten  down  with  it,  he 
is  out  of  the  play.  The  same  if  he  strikes  the  ball  into 
the  air  and  it  is  caught  before  reaching  the  ground.     The 


*  StTutt,  106. 


224 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


225 


batsmen  are  accounted  in  as  long  as  they  remain  at  their 
wickets,  and  their  party  is  called  the  in-party/  and  those 
in  the  field  with  the  bowlers,  the  out-party;  both  parties  hav- 
ing two  innings,  and  the  side  that  obtains  the  most  runs  in 
the  double  contest  claims  the  victory. 

There  are  also  some  other  kinds  of  ball,  as  trap-ball,  ante- 
rior to  cricket,  northern  spell,  and  tip  cat,  a  rustic  pastime, 
deriving  its  name  from  a  piece  of  wood  called  a  cat,  shaped 
much  like  a  double  cone.  This  is  laid  on  the  ground,  the 
player  striking  it  smartly  with  his  cudgel  causing  it  to  rise 
with  a  rotary  motion,  high  enough  for  him  to  beat  it  away 
as  it  falls.  A  large  ring  is  made  upon  the  ground,'^  in  the 
middle  of  which  the  striker  takes  his  station,  and  his 
business  is  to  beat  the  cat  over  the  ring.  Failing  to  do 
that  he  is  out,  and  another  takes  his  place. 

The  sports  of  jousts,  or  justs,  and  the  tournament,  were 
all-absorbing  during  the  middle  ages,  but  these  have 
already  been  briefly  alluded  to  in  considering  European 
society  during  that  period.  There  were  also  many  sports 
and  pastimes,  which  served  as  origins  for  the  drama,  and 
from  which  the  theatre  received  in  time  its  full  develop- 
ment, but  these  fall  more  appropriately  in  another  connec- 
tion. 

Another  sport  which  has  been,  and  in  regard  to  one 
portion  of  it,  is  yet  very  extensively  indulged  in,  is  that  of 
dancing  and  tumbling.  Both  these,  together  with  balanc- 
ing, originated  in  the  early  performances  of  the  gleemen 
and  minstrels,  having  the  same  source  as  the  dramatic 
exhibitions. 

In  the  middle  ages,  dancing  was  reckoned  among  the 
genteel  accomplishments  of  neeessary  acquisition  by  both 
sexes.  It  was  constantly  practiced  by  the  nobility,  on 
all  occasions  of  festivity,  and  countenanced  by  the  ex- 
ample of  the  court.  The  example  of  the  nobility  was 
very  soon  followed  by  the  middling  classes,  and  these  were 


«•! 


'8trutt,  107.    Udem,  no. 


imitated  by  their  inferiors,  who  were  accustomed  to  spend 
much  of  their  leisure  time  in  dancing,  more  especially 
upon  holidays.  An  old  practice,  as  far  back  as  the 
twelfth  century,  prevailed  among  the  damsels  of  Lon- 
don, to  spend  their  holiday  evenings  in  dancing  before 
their  master's  doors.  So  also  the  country  lasses  were 
accustomed  to  perform  this  exercise  upon  the  greens, 
with  all  their  rustic  simplicity.  They  danced  in  measures, 
rounik  and  jigs.  There  were  many  varieties  of  dancing ; 
such  as  dancing  to  a  bear,  which  consisted  in  approaching 
and  receding  from  the  bear  with  great  agility.  The  sword 
dance,  in  which  young  men,  having  first  stripped  them- 
selves, dance  among  the  points  of  swords  and  spears,  with 
most  wonderful  agility,  and  with  the  most  elegant  and 
graceful  motions.  The  raorris  dance,  which  was  most  fre- 
quently joined^  to  processions  and  pageants,  especially 
those  connected  with  the  celebration  of  May  games.  The 
dancers  here  had  garments  adorned  with  bells  of  unequal 
sizes,  and  dilterently  denominated,  and  which  rang  out  as 
they  danced.  To  these  should  be  added  the  egg  dance 
and  the  ladder  dance.  Most  of  the  ancient  dances  were 
of  the  jocular  kind,  and  sometimes  executed  by  one  per- 
son. And  then  there  was  tumbling,  wire  dancing,  rope 
dancing,  ballet  dancing,  leaping,  vaulting  and  balancing, 
besides  many  other  such  kind  of  performances. 

Another  extensive  class  of  sports  and  pastimes  consists 
of  the  difierent  varieties  of  bowling.  This  sport,  whether 
practiced  upon  open  greens  or  in  bowling  alleys,  was  pro- 
bably an  invention  of  the  middle  ages.  It  consisted  at 
first  in  simply  placing  two  small  cones  upright  at  a  distance 
from  each  other,  and  the  business  of  the  players  was  to 
bowl  at  them  alternately,  the  successful  candidate  being 
the  one  who  could  lay  his  bowl  the  nearest  to  the  mark. 
Out  of  this  ultimately  grew  the  game  of  nine-pins  and  skit- 
tles, both  using  the  same  number  of  pins,  but  ditfering  in 
the  mode  of  playing.  In  the  former,  the  player  standing 
at  the  proper  distance  casts  the  bowl  at  the  pins,  and  the 

VI]  29 


226 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


227 


successful  candidate  is  he  who  can  beat  down  the  greatest 
number  in  the  fewest  throws.  In  the  latter,  there  is  a 
double  exertion,  one  by  bowling,  and  the  other  by  tipping;  ^ 
the  first  being  performed  at  a  given  distance,  and  the  se- 
cond standing  close  to  the  frame  upon  which  the  pins  are 
placed,  and  throwing  the  bowl  through  in  the  midst  of 
them. 

Another  sport,  that  was  once  extremely  popular,  was  that 
of  bull-baiting,  or  worrying  bulls  with  dogs,  which  was 
formerly  practiced  in  almost  every  town  or  village  through- 
out the  kingdom.  Another  nearly  allied  to  it  was  the 
bull-running,  at  which,  on  proclamation  made,  the  bull 
was  turned  out,  "  and  the  hivie-skivy,^  tag  and  rag,  men, 
women,  and  children  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  with  all  the 
dogs  in  the  town,  promiscuously  running  after  him  with 
their  bull  clubs,  spattering  dirt  in  each  other's  faces,  that 
one  would  think  them  to  be  so  many  furies  started  out  of 
hell  for  the  punishment  of  Cerberus." 

Another  sport  quite  kindred  to  this  was  that  of  cock- 
fighting.  As  early  aa  the  reign  of  Edward  III,  this  fimious 
sport  became  a  fashionable  amusement.^  It  soon  began 
to  be  productive  of  pernicious  consequences,  and  in  1366 
it  was  prohibited  by  a  public  proclamation.  Henry  VELI 
adorned  his  palace  at  Whitehall  with  a  cockpit,  and  James 
I  resorted  to  the  diversion  twice  a  week.  Tlie  most  cruel 
and  disgraceful  of  this  species  of  game  was  that  called 
Welch  main,  which  consisted  of  a  certain  number  of  pairs 
of  cocks,^  say  sixteen,  which  are  allowed  to  fight  with  each 
other  until  half  of  them  are  killed.  Then  the  sixteen 
conquerors  are  pitted  a  second  time  in  like  manner  until  half 
of  them  are  slain.  Then  the  same  course  is  followed  with 
the  eight  survivors,  and  then  with  the  four  and  then  lastly 
with  the  two.  So  that  in  this  way  no  less  than  thirty-one 
cocks  are  sure  to  be  inhumanly  murdered  for  the  sport  and 
pleasure  of  the  spectators.     From  the  evidence  afibrded  by 


i 


old  illuminated  manuscripts,  it  seems  pretty  clear  that  the 
arming  of  the  heels  with  sharp  points  of  steel  in  the  way  of 
artificial  spurs  is  a  refinement  in  cruelty  which  was  reserved 
for  times  comparatively  modern.     It  is  a  practice  unknown 

in  former  ages. 

A  pastime,  which,  at  the  present  day,  has  superseded 
many  others,  admitting  of  much  variety,  and  being  very 
universally  and  deservedly  popular,  is  that  of  billiards. 
The  invention  of  this  game  is  attributed  to  the  French. 
It  is  too  well  known  to  require  any  description. 

The  game  of  dice  is  one  of  ancient  origin,  but  in  the 
many  frauds  to  which  it  has  given  rise,  has  led  to  many 
evil  consequences.  Its  invention  is  referred  to  Palamedes, 
son  of  Nauplius,  king  of  Euba3a.^  The  ancient  Germans 
were  excessively  attached  to  this  game,  and  the  Saxons, 
Danes,  and  Normans,  were  much  addicted  to  it.  The 
perfect  equality  of  chances  in  this  game  when  it  is  fairly 
played,  has  led  professed  gamblers  to  resort  to  trick  and 
chicanery,  to  secure  an  advantage.  Hence  we  hear  of  the 
loaded  dice,  and  dice  of  the  high  cut. 

Another  game,  whose  invention  has  been  referred  to  the 
same  origin,  but  which  requires  a  strong  exertion  of  intel- 
lect, and  great  powers  of  calculation  to  play  it  successfully, 
is  that  of  chess.  There  have  been  no  less  than  forty-four 
different  names  given  to  so  many  games  of  chess. 

A  game  of  more  modern  invention,  and  somewhat  re- 
sembling chess,  is  that  of  draughts.  Being  less  intricate  it 
is  more  easily  learnt,^  for  the  pieces  are  of  equal  value  until 
they  become  kings,  and  can  only  move  one  way,  that  is 
diagonally ;  but,  like  chess,  it  depends  entirely  upon  skill, 
and  one  false  move  frequently  occasions  the  loss  of  the  game. 

There  are  several  other  games,  as  merelles,  or  nine  men's 
morris,  fox  and  geese,  backgammon,  domino,  which  have 
enjoyed  great  popularity  in  England  and  in  this  country; 
but  the  game  of  cards  has  undoubtedly  been  more  employed 


:^' 


^Strutt,  272.    'Idm,  278.    ^  Idem,  2S1.    */«im,282. 


8fr>(tf,^}0(}.    Udem,  316. 


228 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


I 

i 


I'  - 


as  an  instrument  for  gambling  than  any  other  game.  The 
origin  of  this  celebrated  game  is  not  clearly  settled.  In 
the  last  quarter  of  the  fourteenth  century  it  appears  in 
Spain,  France,  and  it  is  claimed  also  in  Germany  and  Eng- 
land. The  early  specimens  of  cards  differ  little  in  form 
from  those  now  in  use,  but  the  figures  and  devices  that 
constitute  the  different  suits  of  the  cards,^  depending  as 
they  must  upon  the  taste  and  invention  of  the  card  makers, 
did  not  bear  the  least  resemblance  to  those  in  present  use. 

There  are  many  different  games  played  with  cards,^  but 
that  of  whist,  formerly  written  whisk,  is  the  one  held  in 
the  highest  estimation.  At  the  commencement  of  the  last 
century,  this  is  said  to  have  been  a  favorite  pastime  with 
clergymen,  who  played  the  game  with  swabbers,  these 
being  certain  cards  by  which  the  holder  was  entitled  to 
part  of  the  stake,  in  the  same  manner  that  the  claim  is 
made  for  the  aces  at  quadrille. 

There  are  other  pastimes  that  have  formerly  prevailed 
in  England,  that  derived  their  popularity  mostly  from  the 
lower  orders  of  the  people.  Among  these,  is  the  pastime, 
termed  the  lord  of  misrule,  supposed  by  some  to  have  been 
peculiar  to  England.  The  reign  of  this  merry  king  once 
extended  through  the  greater  part  of  the  holidays,  but  his 
government  has  been  extinct  for  many  years.  His  merry 
gambols  were  not  confined  to  the  court,  or  even  the  houses 
of  the  nobility,  but  he  was  elected  in  various  parishes.^ 
Upon  his  appointment  or  election,  he  formed  his  own 
cabinet,  consisting  of  from  twenty  to  an  hundred  kindred 
spirits,  and  then  with  various  decorations,  jingling  bells, 
hobby-horses,  dragons  and  other  antiques,  with  pipers  and 
drummers,  they  would  strike  up  the  devils'  dance,  march- 
ing towards  the  church  full  of  people,  dancing  and  singing 
with  every  possible  exhibition  of  the  wildest  uproar  and 
confusion.*  They  had  their  bowers,  arbors  and  banquet- 
ing houses  set  up,  spending  the  sabbath  day,   and  often 


'8trutt,'S29.    V/dcw,335.    '/rfm,  341.    *Idem,U2. 


i 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


229 


night  in  feasting,  banqueting  and  dancing.  This  was  dis- 
tinct from  the  church-ales,  wakes  and  May-games.  This 
and  other  pastimes,  involving  whimsical  transpositions  of 
dignity,  were  probably  derived  from  the  ancient  saturnalia 
or  feasts  of  Saturn,  when  the  masters  waited  upon  their 
servants  who  were  honored  with  mock  titles,  and  permitted 
to  assume  the  state  and  deportment  of  their  lords.^ 

The  festival  of  fools,  in  which  acts  outraging  all  sense  of 
morality  and  religion  were  perpetrated,  seems  never  to 
have  been  practiced  to  the  full  extent  in  England,  but  we 
find  there  an  old  festival  obviously  derived  from  it,  called 
the  boy  bishop.^  This  consisted  in  the  appareling  of  a 
boy  in  the  episcopal  vestments,  with  a  mitre  and  crozier, 
to  bear  the  title  and  state  of  a  bishop.  He,  together  with 
his  fellows,  dressed  like  priests,  took  possession  of  the 
church,  and  with  mock  dignity,  performed  all  the  ceremo- 
nies and  oflices  wliich  might  have  been  celebrated  by  a 
bishop  and  his  prebendaries.  This  silly  mummery  was 
discontinued  after  the  death  of  Mary. 

Another  impious  pastime  was  the  wakes,  which  con- 
sisted in  the  assembling  together  of  a  motley  group  of 
people  on  the  evening  preceding  a  saint's  day,  and  coming 
to  the  church  with  candles  burning,^  originally  it  would 
seem  to  wake,  and  tend  to  their  devotions.  But  after- 
wards, as  an  old  writer  says :  "  The  people  fell  to  lecherie, 
and  songs,  and  dances,  with  harping  and  piping,  and  also 
to  gluttony  and  sin,  and  so  turned  the  holiness  to  cursed- 
ness;  wherefore  the  holy  fathers  ordained  the  people  to 
leave  that  waking  and  to  fast  the  evening."  The  pedlars 
and  hawkers  soon  attended  to  sell  their  wares,  so  that  by 
degrees  the  religious  wake  became  converted  into  a  secular 
fair.*  At  length,  the  nocturnal  meetings  were  suppressed, 
and  the  regular  fliirs  established. 

These  fairs  were  not  alone  for  the  purpose  of  trafilc.  A 
great  variety  of  sports  and  pastimes  were  there  indulged 


'  Stnfff,  844.     -  Ifhm,  ?ACk     '  Tilem,  365.     * Idcyn,  366. 


•ginr  -t 


230 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  SOCIETY. 


231 


i- 1. 


in.  Among  these  were  the  jingling  match,  which  con- 
sisted in  forming  a  circle  enclosed  with  ropes,  within  which 
nine  or  ten  persons  were  placed,  all,  with  one  exception, 
blindfolded.  That  exception  was  the  most  active,  who  was 
the  jingler,  the  game  being  for  the  blindfolded  to  catch 
the  jingler,  who,  by  his  jingling,  was  constantly  apprising 
them  of  his  whereabouts. 

Sack  running  was  where  men  tied  up  in  sacks,  every 
part  of  them  being  enclosed  except  the  head,  were  to  make 
the  best  of  their  way  to  some  given  distance,  where  the 
first  arriving  obtains  the  prize. 

Smock  races,  performed  by  the  young  country  wenches, 
so  called  because  the  prize  is  a  holland  smock  or  shift. 

The  wheelbarrow  race,  performed  in  an  open  field,  is 
where  the  candidates  are  all  blindfolded,  and  every  one 
having  liis  wheelbarrow,  is  to  drive  with  it  from  the  start- 
ing place  to  a  mark  set  up  for  that  purpose,  at  some  con- 
siderable distance,  he  who  first  reaches  the  mark  being  the 
conqueror.  The  windings  and  wanderings  of  these  knights 
of  the  wheelbarrow  were  productive  of  much  merriment. 

The  grinning  match  is  where  two  or  more  persons,  each 
with  his  head  thrust  through  a  horse's  collar,  endeavor  to 
exceed  every  other  in  excessive  grinning. 

Then  there  is  a  yawning  match  for  a  Cheshire  cheese, 
which  began  about  midnight,  when  the  whole  company 
were  disposed  to  be  drowsy;  and  he  that  yawned  the 
widest,  and  the  most  naturally,  so  as  to  call  forth  the 
greatest  number  of  yawns  from  the  spectators,  bore  off  the 

cheese. 

Another  result  of  the  wake  were  the  church  ales  which 
occurred  on  some  of  the  holidays.  The  avowed  purpose  of 
this  pastime  was,  through  their  means,  to  collect  such  sums 
of  money  as  were  necessary  for  the  support  and  repairs  of 
the  church.  To  accomplish  this  the  most  readily  the  church- 
wardens and  chief  parish  officers  brewed  a  certain  portion 
of  strong  ale  which  they  sold  to  the  people ;  most  of  the 
better  sort  contributing  something  beyond  what  they  thus 


paid.  An  old  writer  of  the  period  of  Queen  Elizabeth 
says :  "  Then,  when  thisnippitatum,  this  huffe-cappe,  as  they 
call  it,  this  nectar  of  Hfe,  is  set  abroach,  well  is  he  that  can 
get  the  soonest  to  it,  and  spends  the  most  at  it,  for  he  is 
counted  the  ficodliest  man  of  all  the  rest,  and  most  in  God's 
favor,  because  it  is  spent  upon  his  church  forsooth." 

The  farmers  of  the  country  annually  hold  two  feasts ; 
the  one  in  spring,  the  other  at  the  end  of  summer,  or 
beginning  of  autumn.  The  first  is  the  sheep  shearing,  the 
second,  the  harvest  home.  These,  in  former  times,  were 
celebrated  with  feasting,  and  a  variety  of  rustic  pastimes. 
At  present,  there  is  little  except  dinner  or  supper  at  the 
conclusion. 

Another  much  celebrated  pastime  of  former  days  con- 
sisted in  the  May  games.  The  first  of  May  was  called 
May-day,  and  "the  juvenile  part  of  both  sexes  were  ac- 
customed to  rise  a  little  after  midnight,^  and  walk  to  the 
neighboring  wood,  accompanied  with  music  and  blowing 
of  horns,  where  they  break  down  branches  from  the  trees, 
and  adorn  them  with  nosegays,  and  crowns  of  flowers. 
When  this  is  done,  they  return  with  their  booty  home- 
wards, about  the  rising  of  the  sun,  and  make  their  doors 
and  windows  to  triumph  with  their  flowery  spoils ;  and 
the  after  part  of  the  day  is  chiefly  spent  in  dancing  around 
a  tall  pole,  which  is  called  a  May-pole;  and  being  placed 
in  a  convenient  part  of  the  village,  stands  there,  as  it 
were,  consecrated  to  the  goddess  of  flowers,  without  the 
least  violation  being  oftered  to  it  in  the  whole  circle  of  the 
year." 

It  was  a  custom  at  the  celebration  of  the  May  games,  to 
elect  a  lord  and  lady  of  the  May,  who  presided  over  the 
sports.  These  were  decorated  with  scarfs,  ribbons,  and 
other  fineries.  A  pleasant  character  dressed  out  with 
ribbons  and  flowers,  figured  in  the  village  May  games, 
under  the  name  of  Jack-in-the-green.     He  carried  a  long 


1  Strutt,  351. 


232 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


W 


walking  stick,  with  floral  wreaths,  whisking  it  about  as  lie 
performed  the  rustic  dances. 

These  Mayings  as  they  were  termed,  probably  differed 
in  the  kind  and  character  of  the  sports  indulged  in  accord- 
ing to  the  different  places  and  periods  of  time  at  which 
they  were  celebrated.  It  was  the  breaking  forth  of  the 
spirit  of  the  spring,  and  was  characterized  everywhere  with 
the  fresh  ebullition  of  young  life.  It  was  a  pastime  entirely 
rnstic  in  its  character,  and  the  neighborhood  of  cities  and 
villages  was  selected  for  its  enjoyment.  It  was  widely  dif- 
fused, prevailing  not  only  in  England,  but  also  in  Ireland 
and  Scotland. 

May-day  has  been  kept  up  in  the  neighborhood  of  Dublin, 
where  a  high  pole  is  decorated  with  garlands,  and  visitors 
come  in  from  the  country  and  dance  around  it,  the  best 
male  and  female  dancer  being  chosen  king  and  queen,  and 
placed  on  chairs.^ 

So  also  in  Edinburgh  there  is  a  pastime  called  gathering 
the  May-dew,  which  is  on  the  first  of  May  when  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  at  the  ringing  of  bells,  folk  of  all 
clans,^  arrayed  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow,  are  seen 
hurrying  to  a  neighboring  hill  which  in  half  an  hour 
appears  like  a  moving  mass  of  animation.  At  its  summit 
are  a  company  of  bakers,  and  other  craftsmen,  dressed  in 
kilts,  dancing  round  a  May-pole.  The  ever  varying  and 
unceasing  sounds  of  the  bagpipes,  tabours,  fifes  anci  other 
instruments  of  music,  almost  stun  the  ear.  About  eight 
o'clock  the  fun  is  all  over,  and  by  nine  or  ten  only  a  few 
staggering  drunkards  indicate  that  anything  unusual  has 
occurred. 

On  the  old  May  day  is  annually  held  in  some  parts  of 
Scotland  the  Beltane  or  Beltein.^  A  town  in  Perthshire 
is  called  Tillee  Beltein,  that  is  the  eminence  (or  high 
place)  of  the  fire  of  Baal.  linear  this  are  two  Druidical 
temples  of  upright  stones  with  a  well  adjacent  to  one  of 


*  Hone's  Every  Day  Book,  ii,  596.    "  Idem,  610.    ^  Idem,  659. 


. 


EUROPE— ITS  SOCIETY. 


233 


I' 


I 


them,  still  held  in  great  veneration  for  its  sanctity,  and,  on 
that  account  visited  by  vast  numbers  of  superstitious  peo- 
ple. In  the  neighboring  parish  of  Callander  upon  Beltein 
day,  they  cut  a  circular  trench  in  the  ground,  sufficient  to 
enclose  the  whole  company  assembled.  They  kindle  a 
fire,  and  dress  a  repast  of  eggs  and  milk  in  the  consist- 
ence of  a  custard.  They  knead  a  cake  of  oatmeal,  which 
is  toasted  in  the  embers  against  a  stone.  Having  eaten  the 
custard,  they  divide  the  cake  into  as  many  equal  parts  as 
there  are  persons  present,  and  one  part  is  made  perfectly 
black  with  charcoal.  The  bits  of  cake  are  then  put  into  a 
bonnet,  and  are  drawn  blindfold,  and  he  who  draws  the 
black  bit  is  considered  as  devoted  to  be  sacrificed  to  Baal, 
and  is  obliged  to  leap  three  times  through  the  flame. 

In  Ireland,  the  Beltein  is  celebrated  on  the  twenty-first 
of  June  at  the  time  of  the  solstice.  There  they  make  fires 
on  the  tops  of  hills,  and  every  member  of  the  family  is 
made  to  pass  through  the  fire,  as  they  reckon  this  ceremony 
to  ensure  good  fortune  during  the  succeeding  year.  And 
in  Ireland,  May  day  is  called  la  na  Beal  tina,  and  May  eve 
ueen  na  Beal  tina,^  that  is,  day  and  eve  of  Beal's  fire,  from 
it  having  been,  in  heathen  times,  consecrated  to  the  god 
Baal,  or  Belus.  From  this  cause  the  month  of  May  is 
termed  in  Irish  mi  na  Beal  tine.  There  is  also  a  ceremony 
practiced  on  May  eve,  of  making  the  cows  leap  over  the 
lighted  straw,  or  faggots.  The  reason  assigned  for  that 
practice  now  is  to  preserve  the  milk  from  being  pilfered.  It 
would  thus  seem  as  if  fragments  of  the  old  worship  of 
Baal,  following  the  course  of  the  Celtic  emigration,  had 
early  drifted  to  the  British  isles,  and  there  entered  into 
the  social  life  of  the  people. 


*  Hone's  Every  Day  Book,  i,  594. 


VI] 


30 


CHAPTER  IL 

ELEMENT  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  MODERN  EUROPE. 

Scholastic  Philosophy. 

Philosophy  regards  the  true  in  itself.     Its  search  is  after 
truth ;  the  truth  of  thought,  and  tlie  truth  of  things. 

Man  has  two  modes  of  existence,  the  spontaneous,  and 
the  reflective.  In  the  first,  his  mental  faculties  perform 
their  functions  in  a  manner  analogous  to  his  hodily  organs 
spontaneously.  They  act  by  virtue  of  their  original  con- 
stitution as  they  were  made  to  act,  and  never  stop  to  in- 
quire as  to  the  how,  why,  or  wherefore,  or  as  to  the  degree 
of  trust  and  confidence  that  may  be  reposed  in  their  action. 
They  care  as  little  how  their  minds  produce  ideas  as  they 
do  how  their  liver  secretes  bile,  or  by  what  means  the  food 
taken  into  their  stomachs  produces  growth.  These  are  the 
men  of  action.  Those  who  do  the  business  of  the  world. 
They  both  think  and  reason ;  but  their  thoughts  and  rea- 
sonings all  have  reference  to  phenomena  without  them. 
They  are  busied  and  wholly  occupied  with  what  are 
termed  life's  realities  and  utilities ;  and  they  use  both  their 
bodies  and  minds  in  accomplishing  what  the  most  obviously 
appear  to  be  life's  purposes  here,  without  once  seeming 
even  to  dream  that  thought  or  knowledge,  or  existence, 
may  present  any  problems  in  themselves  that  are  worthy 
of  solution.  As  the  mill,  without  inquiry,  grinds  the  grain 
placed  in  its  hopper,  so  their  powers  both  of  body  and 
mind  spontaneously  perform  their  varied  functions  without 
expending  a  single  thought  upon  the  curious  and  compli- 
cated machinery  by  which  the  results  are  produced.  They 
begin,  grow,  produce  their  legitimate  fruits,  and  die ;  and 
thus  the  great  body  of  the  world  is  made  up.     But  not 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


235 


all.  There  are  those  who  reflect,  and  whose  mode  of  exist- 
ence is  reflective.  In  these  the  thought,  after  it  has  gone 
forth  spontaneously,  and  entered  into  outward  phenomena, 
returns  again  to  inquire  as  to  itself;  to  ask  by  what  war- 
rant it  came  to  exist;  what  are  the  conditions  of  its  exist- 
ence ;  how  it  is  enabled  to  exist  and  act ;  why  it  can  act 
thus  and  not  otherwise ;  and  what  are  the  guaranties  that 
its  action  is  in  accordance  with  the  truth  of  things.  The 
first  impulse  of  the  reflective  is  to  account  to  itself  for  its 
own  thought ;  to  cast  a  searching  glance  into  the  movements 
of  its  own  machinery.  When  once  the  action  of  thought 
in  its  outward  career  is  arrested,  and  it  is  turned  inward 
upon  itself,  then  arises  the  conviction  of  the  mysteries  of 
being.  Questions  are  to  be  asked  and  answered,  inquiries 
to  be  made  and  satisfied,  problems  to  be  proposed  and  solved, 
of  which  the  man  of  mere  action  has,  and  can  have,  but 
little,  if  any,  conception.  The  riddle  of  existence  presses 
with  all  its  weight  for  a  satisfactory  solution. 

And  this  is  the  task  philosophy  proposes  to  itself  The 
problems  with  which  it  immediately  employs  itself  have 
little  to  do  with  the  transactions  of  the  world's  busi- 
ness or  its  general  concerns;  although  the  investigations 
and  discoveries,  which  they  have  originated,  really  lie  at 
the  foundation  of  almost  every  department  of  human  in- 
dustry. Let  the  man  of  mere  action  sneer,  if  he  chooses, 
at  the  unproductiveness  of  philosophy.  It  is  a  world  into 
which  he  has  never  entered.  It  deals  in  problems  of  which 
he  can  know  nothing.  But  this  he  can  do  if  he  will  set  him- 
self about  it.  He  can  estimate,  to  some  extent,  what  would 
have  been  his  own  status  and  condition,  as  well  as  that 
of  all  the  rest  of  the  civilized  world,  if  the  Baconian  philo- 
sophy had  never  originated  the  sciences  to  which  industry, 
with  all  its  ten  thousand  results,  is,  and  ever  will  be,  so 
largely  indebted. 

The  man  who  first  reflected  was  the  first  philosopher. 
His  reflections  may  have  been,  and  undoubtedly  were, 
crutle  and  undigested.     But  he  had  entered  into  a  world 


236 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


tbat  was  new,  and  entirely  different  from  that  in  which 
those  around  them  were  moving  and  acting.  From  those 
he  could  have  little  sympathy.  But  once  having  thrown 
his  sounding  line  into  the  depths  of  his  own  being,  he  had 
ample  occupation  for  all  his  powers.  Once  coming  face 
to  face  with  the  mysteries  of  his  own  existence,  and  all  its 
varied  modes  of  activity,  he  had  enough  to  do. 

Let  me  recall  attention  to  some  of  the  problems  which 
did  or  might  present  themselves  for  solution.  What  is  the 
character  of  my  thought,  and  how  is  it  conditioned? 
"What  are  my  mental  faculties,  what  the  modes  of  their 
activity,  and  the  conditions  under  which  they  act?  What 
originates,  directs,  and  controls  their  action  ?  In  what 
consists  my  own  personal  identity  ?  What  are  the  elements 
of  this  ego  or  /,  of  which  my  own  consciousness  makes  me 
acquainted  ?  Is  there  an  external  world  without  me,  and, 
if  so,  what  are  its  conditions,  and  what  its  relations  with 
the  internal  world  within  me?  How  can  I  be  certified 
of  the  existence  of  an  external  world,  and  how  far  can  I 
come  to  have  a  knowledge  of  it?  What  are  the  means, 
and  what  the  sources  of  knowledge,  and  what  the  degree 
of  certainty  it  is  capable  of  attaining  ?  How  can  I  attain 
to  the  knowledge  of  the  infinite,  the  unconditioned,  and  to 
what  degree  of  certainty  ?  What  is  the  object  and  end  of  my 
being,  and  what  the  aims  that  are  the  best  calculated  to  secure 
such  object  and  end  ?  What  are  my  relations  with  other 
beings,  and  what  the  foundations  of  politics  and  morality  ? 

Such  are  some  of  the  problems  presented,  and  which 
demand  of  philosophy  a  solution.  It  will  be  readily  per- 
ceived that  it  is  entirely  different  from  science.  This  lat- 
ter consists  in  general  laws,  in  obedience  to  which  certain 
related  phenomena  occur.  Philosophy  is  the  parent  of 
science,  as  it  prescribes  the  methods  of  scientific  research, 
and  investigates  the  certainty  of  knowledge  upon  which 
repose  scientific  results. 

We  have  identified  philosophy  with  reflection,  but  we 
must  here  call  attention  to  two  important  facts  as  consti- 


i 


i 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


237 


tuting  two  steps  or  stages  in  the  progress  of  philosophy. 
The  first  may  be  denominated  the  spontaneous  stage,  a 
stage  in  which  the  reflection  was  without  method.  It  was 
illustrated  in  Socrates,  and,  to  a  large  extent,  in  the  world's 
early  philosophers.  It  was  reflection  upon  all  subjects 
without  a  method  in  any. 

This  stage  had  its  use.  It  was  free  from  any  bondage. 
It  was  open  to  every  inquiring  spirit.  Questions  of  every 
character  could  be  asked,  problems  of  every  nature  pro- 
posed for  solution.  There  was  also  freedom  in  their  dis- 
cussion, and  in  the  arriving  at  conclusions.  But  the 
conclusions,  or  results  arrived  at,  had  less  of  the  character 
of  certainty.  The  old  world's  philosophy  was  more  vague, 
uncertain,  less  practical.  But  it  was  one  well  calculated 
to  reflect  its  history. 

In  the  modern  world  we  encounter  the  second  staofc. 
Here  we  find  reflection  as  still  the  important  element,  but 
it  is  no  longer  free  and  unrestrained.  It  is  reflection 
conducted  in  accordance  with  method.  Both  Bacon  and 
Descartes,  the  two  great  founders  of  modern  philosophy, 
had  each  his  method.  Hence  this  will  be  found  more 
inseparably  connected  with  modern  philosophizing.  The 
coupling  of  these  together,  the  pursuing  of  the  one  in 
accordance  with  the  other,  has  led  to  greater  rigor  in 
the  pursuit,  and  to  a  greater  degree  of  certainty  in  the 
conclusions  arrived  at.  The  history  of  modern  philosophy 
is  more  consecutive,  and  more  satisfactory  than  that  of 
the  ancient. 

The  systems  of  modern  philosophy  that  bear  to  each  other 
certain  relations,  that  are  developed  in  a  certain  order; 
and  in  which  luinian  thought  appears  to  move  on  consecu- 
tively in  its  course,  have  their  commencement  with  that 
of  the  seventeenth  century.  From  that  period  the  history 
of  this  element  is  replete  with  interest  and  instruction. 

But  the  periods  that  preceded  this  cannot  be  entirely 
passed  over  in  silence.  As  the  current  systems  of  philo- 
sophy always  reflect  the  peculiar  features  of  the  age  in 


238 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


which  they  exist,  they  are  never  without  interest  to  any  one 
desiring  to  comprehend  humanity  in  all  its  forms  and 
phases,  and  periods  of  development.  However  little  of 
interest  they  may  possess  of  themselves;  however  slight  may 
be  the  connection  between  them  ;  however  apparently  jum- 
bled together  the  ideas  of  which  they  are  composed ;  yet 
as  the  mirror  in  which  the  features  of  their  age  is  reflected 
they  possess  a  significancy  which  must  ever  render  them 
objects  of  attraction  and  interest.  Even  the  so-called  scho- 
lastic philosophy,  so  much  derided  in  itself,  so  replete 
with  mere  verbal  distinctions;  so  full  of  subtleties  without 
meaning,  and  of  reasonings  without  premises  or  conclusions ; 
so  barren  in  its  results,  and  so  willingly  dismissed  from  the 
field  of  its  labors,  comes  to  us  charged  with  a  special  mission 
when  recognized  as  the  mirror  of  its  age. 

So  far  as  regards  any  element  of  humanity,  the  middle 
ages  present  in  themselves  very  little  that  is  attractive  to 
the  student  of  history.     But  when  viewed  as  a  link  in  the 
chain  of  historical  development,  and  more  especially  as 
presenting  a  soil  in  which  we  are  to  seek  for  the  roots  of 
institutions,  which  had  their  growth  and  development  in 
subsequent  ages,  we  are  compelled  to  regard  them  with  no 
inconsiderable  an  amount  of  interest.     The  great  charac- 
teristic of  the  middle  ages  is  that  of  conflict ;  conflict  be- 
tween the  elements  of  humanity,  conflict  between  the  old  and 
the  new,  the  Roman  and  the  Teutonic ;  conflict  between  the 
principles  and  ideas  that  had  been  accustomed  to  exercise 
dominion  in  the  old  Roman  world,  and  others  that  orio:in- 
ated  in  the  Teutonic,  or  had  grown  out  of  the  relations  be- 
tween the  two  ;  conflict  between  a  theology  that  had  become 
dry  and  barren,  and  a  philosophy  that  had  become  strongly 
connected  with  it.     This  last  brings  to  view  the  great  fea- 
ture of  the  scholastic  philosophy.     It  was  a  union  and  yet 
a  struggle  between  theology  and  philosophy,  and  its  great 
mission  is  to  exhibit  the  fruits  of  that  union,  and  that  strug- 
gle.    It  continued  while  the  union  was  preserved,  it  be- 
came extinct  when  the  final  separation  was  efleeted. 


■■■gi1iijiii.iiii 


KUKOl'E—  ITS  PIIILUSOPIIV. 


2^\) 


The  middle  ages   commence   with    Charlemagne.     He 
first  opened  the  schools  and  encouraged  learning.     These 
were  opened  in   the  episcopal   sees,  in  the  monasteries, 
cloisters,  and  convents,^  so  that  these  became,  in  fact,  the 
cradles  of  modern  philosophy.     Here  also  were  the  homes 
of  theology.     It  was  domiciled  here  before  the  entrance 
of  philosophy.     The   theology   was   that   of  the   Roman 
Catholic  church.     Its  doctrines  present  themselves  as  the 
faith  of  the  middle  ages.     They  constituted  the  bases  upon 
which  all  thinking  must  be  conducted.     Hence,  philosophy, 
or  reflection,  must  busy  itself  with  those  doctrines.     It 
can  only  aid  in  investigating,  and  more  clearly  settling, 
the  elements  of  fiiith.     Its   office   must   be   subordinate, 
and,  hence,  always  subject  to  restraint.     The  social,  the 
moral,    the    thinking,   even    the   political,   were    almost 
wholly  subject  to   the   ecclesiastical  power.     Philosophy, 
on  its  summons,  came  to  its  aid,  although  in  bonds ;  and 
employed,  as    its  means,  logic  and   metaphysics,  or  dia- 
lectics, thus  giving  birth  to  the  scholastic  philosophy. 

There  are  reckoned  three  distinct  periods  in  scholasti- 
cism :  1.  That  which  is  characterized  by  the  absolute  sub- 
ordination of  philosophy  to  theology.  2.  That  marked 
by  the  alliance  of  philosophy  with  theology.^  3.  That  in 
which  occurs  the  commencement  of  a  separation,  feeble  at 
first,  but  which  little  by  little  increases  until  the  birth  of 
modern  philosophy. 

In  the  first,  scholasticism  is  the  employment  of  philo- 
sophy, simply  as  the  form  in  which  theology  should  pre- 
sent itself.  It  commences  with  the  ninth,  and  extends  to 
the  middle  of  the  eleventh  century.  During  this  period, 
with  the  exception  of  Erigeua,  nothing  appears  but  partial 
conceptions,  without  the  idea  of  constructing  a  philosophy. 
The  first  impulse  was  given  by  Alcuinus,  who  was  called 
from  an  English  cloister  by  Charlemagne,  and  whose 
labors  in  France  were  principally  directed  to  bring  about 


'  Cousin,  n,lQ.    "*  Idem,  17. 


240 


IIISTOKY  OF  CIVHJZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


241 


the  UDioii  of  the  two  social  elements,  force  and  intellect; 
and  to  make  the  throne  of  the  one  the  seat  of  the  other, 
a  mission  well  adapted  to  such  an  age  of  force.  He 
created  schools,  hut  no  philosophical  system. 

He  was  succeeded  by  John  Scotus,  surnamed  Erigena, 
from  the   fact   of  his  being   an   Irishman,  who   was  also 
invited  by  Charles  the  Bold  to  France,  where  he  found 
himself  the  centre  of  intellectual  activity.     This  system  re- 
garded philosophy  as  the  science  of  the  principles  of  all 
things,   and   as  inseparable  from  religion.     God   was  re- 
garded as  the  essence  of  all  things,  and  from  the  plenitude 
of  his  nature  they  are  all  derived,  and  to  him  ultimately 
return.     It  was  in  truth  a  vast  system  of  j)anthei8m,  and  sub- 
jected him  to  the  charge  of  heresy.     His  ideas  w^ere  mostly 
borowed  from  the  ancient  philosophies,  and  not  being  the 
product  of  his  age,  astonished  tar  more  than  they  instructed 
it. 

St.  Anselm,  born  at  Aost  in  Piedmont,  in  1034,  was  a 
second  Augustine,  and  superior  to  those  of  his  age  in  the 
clearness  of  his  understanding,  and  powers  of  logic.  He 
planned  a  system  of  religious  philosophy,  to  be  eftected  by 
combining  the  results  of  controversies  on  such  subjects,  in 
accordance  generally  with  the  views  of  St.  Augustine. 
He  endeavored  to  state  systematically  the  great  truths  of 
religion  on  principles  of  common  reason,  at  the  same  time 
presupposing  the  more  solid  foundation  of  religious  convic- 
tion. He  also  sought  to  prove  the  existence  of  God  from 
the  fact  of  one  idea  of  an  Almighty  power.  He  is  regarded 
as  the  inventor  of  scholastic  metaphysics,  but  subsequent 
ideas  and  systems  have  in  a  great  measure  superseded 
those  which  he  put  forth. 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  eleventh  century,  and  therefore 
coming  within  the  second  period  above  indicated,  appeared 
Roscellin,  who  established  the  school  of  nominalism  in 
contradistinction  to  that  of  realism,  which  had  held  undis- 
puted sway  through  the  previous  period.  The  former  was 
claimed  to  derive  its  origin  from  Plato,  the  latter  from 


Aristotle.  The  great  war  carried  on  in  the  bosom  of  scho- 
lasticism was  waged  by  the  adherents  of  these  two  schools, 
and  this  controversy,  under  modified  forms,  has  prevailed 
during  subsequent  periods  in  the  history  of  philosophy. 
It  is  important,  therefore,  to  inquire  what  was  the  point 
of  the  controversy. 

This  related  to  the  word  genus,  and  the  word  species. 
The  question  raised  is  whether  these  words  represent  an 
actual  something,  existing  externally,  or  is  it  a  mere  name, 
which  designates  a  certain  collection  of  individuals?  These 
words,  genus  and  species,  came  under  the  denomination 
of  universals. 

The  realists  held  fast  to  the  objective  reality  of  the  uni- 
versals, and  William  de  Champeaux  maintained  that 
genera  and  species,  so  far  from  being  mere  names,  nomi- 
nal entities,^  are  the  only  entities  that  exist,  and  that  the 
individuals,  in  which  it  has  been  attempted  to  resolve 
genera,  have  existence  themselves  only  through  relation  to 
what  is  universal.  He  claimed  that  all  that  exists  is  hu- 
manity, of  which  all  men  are  but  fragments.  These  were 
the  disciples  of  Aristotle. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  nominalists  maintained  that 
genera  and  species  are  simple  abstractions  which  the  mind 
forms  by  the  comparison  of  a  certain  number  of  individuals, 
which  it  reduces  to  a  common  idea;  that  all  such  were 
simply  names,  representations,  without  any  reality.  They 
held  that  there  were  no  universal  conceptions,  no  species, 
no  class,  and  that  everything  which  is,  exists  only  as 
separate  in  its  pure  individuality.  There  can,  therefore, 
be  no  pure  thinking,  but  only  a  representation  and  sensuous 
perception.  This  doctrine  had  its  consequences.  If  every 
genus  is  a  mere  word,  there  can  be  no  reality  except  in 
individuals.  Unities  can  be  no  other  than  simple  abstrac- 
tions, and  hence  in  the  Holy  Trinity  there  is  nothing  real 


.1 


*  Cousin,  II,  31. 
VI] 


31 


fd-XM 


IIISTOKY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


243 


except  the  three  persons,  nothing  but  a  nominal  unity,  a 
simple  sign  representing  the  relation  of  the  three. 

Again,  if  the  individuals  are  the  only  realities,  it  would 
follow  that  the  senses,  which  perceive  individual  existences, 
are  at  bottom  the  only  sources  of  knowledge,  and,  further 
than  this,  there  can  be  no  absolute  affirmation  respecting 
things,  since  all  absolute  affirmation  implies  a  general  idea, 
which  according  to  this  system  is  destitute  of  all  real  reality. 
This  opens  the  direct  road  to  skepticism. 

But  if  the  realist  doctrine  be  true,  especially  as  expounded 
by  William  de  Champeaux,  that  the  objects  represented 
by  general  ideas  are  the  only  realities,  of  which  individuals 
are  only  the  fragments  or  forms,  then  we  have  opened  up 
the  road  to  pantheism.  And  although  these  consequences 
were  not  at  first  clearly  apprehended,  yet  it  was  seen  from 
the  first  that  there  was  at  the  foundation  of  the  question, 
matter  of  the  greatest  importance,  and  that  the  destiny  of 
human  reason  was  involved  in  the  controversy. 

The  ultimate  limit  of  realism  was  reached  by  William 
de  Champeaux,  -  about  the  close  of  the  eleventh  century, 
who,  in  seeking  to  place  it  upon  impregnable  grounds,  ar- 
rived at  the  theory  that  universals  individualize  themselves 
in  particular  beings  in  such  a  way  that  individuals,  identi- 
cal as  their  essence,  differ  only  by  the  variety  of  their 
accidents  or  transient  forms. 

This  brings  us  to  the  celebrated  Peter  Abelard,  born  in 
Brittany  in  1079,  died  in  1142,  aged  sixty-three  years.  He 
was  a  brilliant  genius,  and  possessed  great  power  as  a 
disputant  and  lecturer.  He  signalized  himself  by  attacking 
and  ultimately  vanquishing  in  debate  his  teacher,  William 
de  Champeaux.  But  in  overthrowing  realism  he  did  not 
establish  nominalism.  He  first  put  forth  a  middle  ground, 
that  of  conceptualism.  lie  refused  to  consider  universals 
as  mere  words,  pure  eonveulion«,  l)ut  considered  then',  as 
forms  of  the  mind.  Every  individual,  according  to  liini,  is 
composed  of  matter  and  form;  tlie  animal  is  tlie  matter,  a 
unit;  the  form  is  various,  diverse.     The  species  is  com- 


posed by  a  collection  of  essences,  which  sustain  individual 
forms,  while  the  genus  is  composed  by  a  collection  of  the 
substantial  differences  of  different  species.  The  particular 
essence  which  forms  the  genus  animal,  results  from  a  certain 
matter,  essence  of  body,  and  substantial  forms  which  can 
only  exist  essentially  there.  But  the  active  mind  of 
Abelard  could  not  rest  in  quiet  without  claiming  the  supre- 
macy for  that  which  lay  at  the  foundation  of  its  activity, 
the  reason.  The  theology  of  that  period,  under  the  guid- 
ing care  of  St.  Anselni,  had  given  the  predominance  to 
faith  as  the  rule  of  philosophy,  claiming  that ''  faith  had  its 
own  proper  certainty,  independent  of  the  philosophical 
conceptions  by  which  the  reason  attempts  to  penetrate  to 
a  comprehension  of  the  revealed  doctrine.^  Abelard 
sought  to  reverse  this  doctrine,  claiming  that  faith  had  no 
certainty  except  in  so  far  as  it  was  transformed  into  philo- 
sophy; that  previous  to  this  transformation  it  could  be 
nothing  but  a  provisional  opinion.  In  the  enforcement  of 
his  opinions  he  brought  logic  as  an  independent  power 
into  the  arena  of  theological  debate,  and  in  undertaking  to 
bring  faith  within  the  empire  of  reason,  and  insisting  that 
all  dogmas  should  be  presented  under  a  rational  form,  he 
made  a  commencement  which  marks  a  new  epoch  in  the 
history  of  speculative  philosophy,  viz :  that  which  marks 
the  struggle  of  reason  against  authority,  some  centuries 
later  the  foundation  of  the  reformation. 

There  now  occurred  a  triple  reaction  against  the  abuse 
of  dialectics,  and  from  useless  speculations  upon  abstrac- 
tions, tending  to  dry  up  the  human  mind,  philosophy  first 
took  refuge  in  mysticism,  and  Hugh  and  Richard  of  St. 
Victor  called  the  attention  of  mankind  to  the  great  truth 
that  God  is  love,  and  summoned  the  dialecticians  to  sus- 
pend, for  a  moment,  their  dry  wrangling  and  stop  to  con- 
template. They  claimed  for  intuition  a  high  place  in  the 
working  of  the  mind. 


'  History  of  Philo8(yi}hy ,  i,  283. 


"t 


•> 


I 


\ 


* 


244 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


The  second  reaction  against  the  abuse  of  scholasticism 
consisted  in  the  recall  to  more  positive  studies  under  the 
guidance  of  Peter  Lombard,  the  master  of  sentences,  who 
collected  the  opinions  of  the  fathers  upon  the  principal 
points  of  theology  and  philosophy,  which,  for  a  long  time, 
was  received  as  a  classical  text  book  for  the  explanations 
of  professors. 

The  third  reaction  was  in  the  criticism  of  John  of  Salis- 
bury, who  died  in  1180.  lie  called  attention  to  the  fact 
that  the  science  of  dialectics  always  remains  a  barren  or 
dead  science  unless  it  receives  fruitful ness  and  life  from 
other  sciences,  and  lie  accused  tlie  dialecticians  of  never 
arriving  at  any  applications,  and  of  reversing  the  natural 
order  of  science. 

Another  refuge  still  was  found  in  the  pantheistic  systems 
of  Amaury  de  Chartres,  and  David  deDinant.  These  held 
that  "everything  is  God,  and  God  is  everything.  The 
creator  and  the  creature  are  one  and  the  same  being. 
Ideas  are  at  once  creative  and  created.  God  is  the  end  of 
all  things,  in  the  sense  that  *all  things  must  return  to  him 
in  order  to  constitute  with  him  an  immutable  individuality. 
Just  as  Abraham  and  Isaac  are  nothing  but  individualiza- 
tions of  human  nature,  so  all  beings  are  only  individual 
forms  of  one  sole  essence."  This  was  the  ideal  pantheism 
of  de  Chartres.  De  Dinant  held  to  a  material  pantheism 
that  "  God  is  the  universal  matter,  and  that  the  forms,  that 
is,  everything  not  material,  are  but  imaginary  accidents." 

A  fact  in  history  now  brought  a  fresh  accession  to  the 
philosophical  mind  of  Europe.  The  Arabs  passed  into 
Spain,  and  there  founded  an  empire.  On  the  eastern  coasts 
of  the  Mediterranean  they  had  everywhere  encountered 
the  Alexandrians  and  Aristotle.  The  Arabian  mind  seized 
with  avidity  the  doctrines  of  the  great  peripatetic,  and 
having  passed  through  that  subtle  alembic  they  were  in- 
troduced into  the  schools  of  Spain.  To  these  schools  came 
some  of  the  theologians  of  Europe  to  study,  and  this  gave 
a  new  activity  to  philosophical  speculations  in  the  last  half 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


245 


of  the  twelfth  century.  A  new  power  was  given  to  Aris- 
totle. He  was  in  a  manner  installed  the  sovereign  and  in- 
fallible arbiter  of  truth  and  folsehood  in  all  matters  of 
science.  A  new  impulse  was  given  to  dialectics.  The  circle 
of  the  sciences,  and  the  field  of  inquiry  was  enlarged.  Xew 
ideas  and  new  combinations  came  forth.  Philosophy  and 
science  came  to  be  distinguished  from  each  other  and  to 
have  each  its  appropriate  place. 

Several  philosophers,  or  theologians,  distinguish  this  era, 
but  all  the  anterior  conceptions  seem  to  be  summed  up  and 
systematized  by  the  labors  of  the  two  most  celebrated  doc- 
tors of  the  middle  ages,  Bonaventura  and  Thomas  Aquinas. 
Of  these,  the  object  of  the  first  was  to  establish  the  union 
of  the  peripatetic  philosophy  with  the  doctrines  of  the  mys- 
tic school,  to  make  proclamation  of  bans  between  logic  and 
intuition.  The  second  "  reared  upon  the  basis  of  logic 
alone  a  vast  edifice  of  which  the  difi*erent  stories  corre- 
sponded to  all  orders  of  human  knowledge." 

The  first  was  a  Tuscan  and  born  in  1221,  died  in  1274, 
He  promulgated  the  doctrine  of  illumination  distinguish- 
ing four  modes  of  the  communication  of  the  light.^ 

1.  The  external  light,  and  this  explains  the  mechanical 
arts,  and  subserves  the  corporeal  wants  of  man.  Its  divi- 
sions correspond  with  the  divisions  of  human  industry. 

2.  The  inferior  light,  which  produces  sensitive  know- 
ledge, and  enlightens  external  forms.  The  sensitive  spirit 
resides  in  the  nerves,  and  its  essence  is  multiplied  in  the 
five  senses. 

The  internal  light  which  produces  philosophical  know- 
ledge, seeking  after  hidden  causes  by  means  of  principles 
of  truth  contained  in  the  nature  of  man.  Truths  are  of 
three  sorts,  as  they  are  related  to  words,  to  things,  or  to 
actions.  Hence  philosophy  has  three  branches,  the  ra- 
tional, natural,  and  moral.  The  rational,  taken  in  relation 
to  ideas,  is  granmiarj  in  relation  to  teaching,  logic;  and  in 

'im.  Phil,  i,2dl. 


246 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


f 


the  production  of  emotions,  rhetoric.  The  natural  com- 
prehends physics,  mathematics,  and  metaphysics,  which, 
embracing  the  universe  of  beings,  refers  them  back,  accord- 
ing to  typical  ideas,  to  God,  the  source  from  wliich  they 
sprang.  The  moral  is  divided  into  monastic,  economic, 
and  political,  according  as  it  relates  to  the  individual,  to 
the  family  or  to  the  state. 

4.  The  superior  light,  which  comes  from  grace  and  the 
Holy  Scriptures,  and  whicli  gives  the  knowledge  of  truths 
that  sanctify.  This  light  is  simple  and  single  in  so  far  as 
it  makes  known  the  literal  sense  of  revelation,  and  three- 
fold in  so  fiir  as  it  makes  known  the  spiritual  sense,  which 
is  either  allegorical,  moral,  or  analogical.  The  whole 
scripture  doctrine  refers  to  three  points,  the  eternal  gene- 
ration and  incarnation  of  the  logos  or  word;  the  rule  of 
life;  and  the  union  of  God  and  the  soul;  the  first  belong- 
ing to  the  d(Jctors,  the  second  to  the  preachers,  and  the 
third  to  the  mystics.  He  seeks  in  the  mechanic  arts,  and 
in  the  sphere  of  sensitive  knowledge,  for  images  of  the 
generation  of  the  logos,  of  the  rule  of  life,  and  of  the 
alliance  of  the  soul  with  God. 

Thomas  Aquinas,  more  generally  known  as  St.  Thomas, 
was  a  Neapolitan,  born  in  1227,  and  died  in  1274.  His 
system  is  both  diversified  and  extensive,  foreshadowing  some 
of  the  points  and  principles  that  have  received  their  full 
development  in  modern  philosophy. 

He  considered  the  intellectual  sphere  under  three  rela- 
tions, viz  :  First.  The  knowledge  of  causes  as  explaining 
effects.  Second.  The  point  of  difference  between  the 
intellect  and  the  senses,  the  latter  referring  to  particular 
things,  the  former  embracing  the  universal.  Third.  The 
intelligibility  of  things  depends  upon  their  proportion  to 
the  intellect,  which  is  the  greater  the  more  it  is  freed  from 
material  conditions.  Things  become,  therefore,  the  more 
intelligible  the  more  they  are  separated  from  matter. 
Hence  the  most  intellectual  and  regulative  science  is  meta- 
physics.    All  other  speculative  sciences  are  subordinate, 


I 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


247 


t-l 


while  the  practical,  being  related  to  the  particular  activity 
of  man,  are  destitute  of  the  greatest  generality. 

As  to  human  science  he  proposes  this  important  question.^ 
Do  its  principles  result  from  a  preexisting  experimental 
knowledge  ?  In  the  principles  of  science  he  distinguishes 
two  elements  :  1.  The  terms  wliich  are  the  matter  of  these 
principles.  2.  The  relations  of  these  terms.  The  know- 
ledge of  the  first,  he  states,  depends  upon  a  notion  furnished 
by  experience ;  while  that  of  their  relation,  or  the  com- 
plexus,  as  he  terms  it,  of  the  terms,  is  not  derived  from 
experience.  As  the  preexisting  habit  of  virtue  leads  to 
the  virtuous  act,  so  the  acquisition  of  science  implies  that 
there  preexisted  in  our  minds  the  germs  of  rational  con- 
ceptions. Thus  is  dimly  shadowed  forth  the  philosophy  of 
Kant.  This  principle  he  carries  out  by  maintaining  that 
all  scientific  demonstration  results  from  the  union  of  two 
elements,  the  one  empirical,  the  other  rational;  the  one 
furnishing  the  matter  of  the  demonstration,  the  other  its 
productive  form. 

The  question  of  universals  he  solved  by  applying  his 
ideas  concerning  form  and  matter.  The  matter  of  the  uni- 
^rsal  idea  is  the  union  of  the  attributes  of  human  nature. 
Hence  universals  are  a  part  of  the  thing ;  their  matter  exists 
solely  in  each  individual.  Their  form  is  the  character  of 
universality  applied  to  this  matter,  this  character  being  ob- 
tained only  by  abstracting  what  is  peculiar  to  each  indivi- 
dual in  order  to  consider  what  is  common  to  all.  Universals 
are,  therefore,  a  part  of  the  intellect. 

He  demonstrates  the  existence  of  God  in  five  different 
ways,  in  each  of  which  demonstrations  there  is  a  double 
element,  viz:  one  furnished  by  experience,  and  one  from 
the  reason.     Of  these  five  demonstrations,  we  have : 

1.  That  from  the  fact  of  motion.  Experience  establishes 
this  fact.  But  motion  can  only  be  communicated  throu^-h 
the  influence  of  a  being  who  is  himself  in  motion.     The  col- 


^  Ilist&i^  of  PMlosophy,  i,  295. 


248 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


lective  whole  of  mutable  things  cannot  pass  from  the  poten- 
tial to  the  active  state,  except  there  exist  a  being  who  has 
motion  in  act,  without  having  it  in  mere  potentiality,  that 
is,  a  being  who  can  cause  to  move  without  being  himself 
mutable.  The  rational  element  in  this  demonstration  is 
all  motion  supposes  an  immutable  principle. 

2.  That  from  cause  and  eflect.  Experience  establishes 
that  there  exists  in  the  sensible  world  a  series  of  causes 
and  effects.  Everything  is  cause  and  effect,  or  there 
exists  a  being  who  is  cause  without  being  effect.  The 
first  supposition  is  contradictory,  as  no  being  can  be  at 
once  cause  and  effect  of  himself.  The  rational  element 
here  is,  every  series  of  effects  supposes  a  primary  cause. 

3.  That  from  generation  and  dissolution.  Experience 
establishes  that  there  exists  in  nature,  a  law  of  generation 
and  dissolution  of  things.  Everything  subject  to  it  is 
simply  possible,  not  necessary,  as  there  was  a  time  when  it 
did  not  yet  exist.  But  the  possible  suppose  the  necessary. 
Therefore  there  exists  a  being  who  is  necessary.  The  ra- 
tional element  here  is,  the  possible  supposes  the  necessary. 

4.  That  from  goodness  and  perfection.  Experience 
teaches  that  in  the  various  beings  that  compose  the  uni- 
verse there  are  various  degrees  of  goodness  and  perfection. 
But  degrees  of  perfection  cannot  be  conceived  except  as  they 
participate  of  a  perfection  which  admits  of  no  degrees.  The 
rational  element  here  is,  the  relative  supposes  the  absolute. 

5.  That  from  design.  Experience  teaches  that  bodies 
destitute  of  intelligence  are  ever  tending  to  a  good  and 
useful  end.  This  proves  intention,  design  in  nature.  But 
things  destitute  of  intelligence  cannot  tend  to  an  end,  except 
as  directed  by  intelligence.  There  exists,  therefore,  an  or- 
daining intelligence.  The  rational  element  here  is,  order 
supposes  intelligence. 

These  rational  principles  are  all  deduced  from  two 
notions :  1.  The  notion  of  necessary  and  absolute  existence, 
without  which  the  relative  and  contingent  are  not  conceiv- 
able.    2.  The  notion  of  cause,  without  which  neither  suc- 


EUiiOPE— ITS  PHILOSOrilY. 


249 


cession,   nor  motion,  nor   order  of  phenomena   could   be 
conceived. 

He  connected  cosmology  with  theology  by  considering 
nature  as  a  representative  of  that  which  is  in  God,  as  a 
mirror  of  the  divine  essence.  This  representation,  how- 
ever, is  not  an  image,  but  a  vestige,  which,  without  repro- 
ducing the  form  of  the  cause,  merely  attests  its  action. 
All  creatures  are  the  representation  of  the  trinity  in  the 
way  of  vestige. 

He  repudiated  the  doctrine  of  Origen,  that  bodies,  are  the 
prison  of  the  soul,  and  were  created  only  to  punish  in 
them  the  faults  of  intelligent  creatures,  but  held  that  they 
must  partake  of  the  quahty  of  good,  and  are  an  effect  of 
the  divine  goodness  that,  although  imperfect,  yet  they  con- 
cur to  the  perfection  of  the  universe,  which  ought  to  com- 
prehend a  hierarchy  of  beings,  subordinate  one  to  another, 
according  to  the  degrees  of  perfection  they  possess. 

He  held  that  there  are  three  souls  in  man  in  the  sense 
only  that  the  mind,  which  in  its  essence  is  one,  possesses  a 
threefold  life,  viz  :  "  the  rational  life,  which  exerts  its  func- 
tions without  any  corporeal  organ  ;  the  sensitive  life,  which 
has  need  of  a  corporeal  organ ;  and  the  vegetative  life, 
which  needs  not  only  a  corporeal  organ,  but  a  corporeal 
force  besides.  The  rational  life  is  divided  into  two 
branches,  corresponding  to  intelligence  and  w^ill. 

Immediately  succeeding  Thomas  Aquinas  was  Duns 
Scotus,  born  in  Northumberland  in  1275,  and  who  died  in 
1308,  who  attacked  the  system  of  Thomas  Aquinas,  and 
endeavored  to  ascertain  some  certain  principle  of  know- 
ledge, whether  intellectual  or  sensible,  and  applied  himself 
to  demonstrate  the  truth  and  necessity  of  revelation.  He 
asserted  that  the  universal  is  contained  in  the  particular, 
not  merely  in  posse  but  in  actu;  that  it  is  not  created 
by  the  understanding,  but  communicated  to  it ;  and  that 
the  nature  of  things  is  determined  to  particular  or  uni- 
versal by  a  higher  principle.     He  was  the  founder  of  a 

VI]  82 


^ 
^ 


250 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


school,  the  Scotists,  who  distinguished  themselves  for 
subtilty  of  disputation,  and  for  incessant  disputes  with  the 
Thomists. 

We  now  arrive  at  the  third  period  in  scholasticism,  at 
which  some  symptoms  we  have  previously  seen,  begin  to 
develop  themselves  more  freely,  tending  to  a  separation 
between  philosophy  and  theology.  Two  very  remarkable 
men  mark  its  first  movements.  These  wore  Roger  Bacon, 
and  Raymond  Lulli.  The  first  an  Englishman,  born  in 
1214,  died  in  1294.  lie  acquired  great  celebrity  by  his 
knowledge  of  mathematics,  chemistry,  physics,  and  the 
languages,  as  also  by  his  many  original  ideas  and  inven- 
tions. He  detected  the  false  principles  of  the  philosophical 
system  of  his  time,  and  instead  of  the  frivolous  distinctions 
then  established,  was  desirous  of  opening  new  paths  to 
inquiry  through  the  study  of  nature  and  the  languages. 
He  fully  realized  the  truth  that  every  theory  of  the  physi- 
cal world  should  have  its  basis  in  observation  of  the  pro- 
cesses of  nature.  He  saw,  also,  that  to  simple  observation 
must  be  joined  experiment.  He  arraigned  the  scholastic 
philosophy  at  the  bar  of  human  reason,  and  brought  for- 
ward against  it  three  principal  accusations:  1.  He  re- 
proached it  for  its  blind  credulity,  in  submitting  so  unre- 
servedly to  the  authority  of  Aristotle.  2.  He  charges  it 
with  gross  ignorance  of  antiquity  both  sacred  and  pro- 
fane, and  ignorance  so  deep  and  profound,  that  even  its 
Aristotle  is  only  a  counterfeit  one,  a  substitute  of  his  Arabic 
and  other  commentators  in  the  place  of  the  real  one.  3. 
He  accuses  it  of  moving  in  a  circle  of  abstractions,  of  ig- 
noring all  that  is  real,  and  of  entirely  neglecting  the  observ- 
ation of  nature;  of  being  artificial,  subtle,  disputatious, 
and  pedantic ;  in  fine,  of  shutting  up  the  human  mind 
within  the  schools,  far  away  from  nature  and  the  works  of 
God.  Upon  the  correctness  of  these  accusations  the  com- 
ing centuries  have  pronounced  their  unmistakable  verdict. 
He  was  thus,  in  a  two-fold  aspect,  the  precursor  of  the  great 
Bacon,  but  he  was  three  centuries  too  early.     The  monkish 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


251 


spirit  of  the  time  could  afford  him  no  toleration,  and  he 
was  persecuted  as  a  sorcerer. 

Raymond  Lulli  was  a  Majorcase,  born  in  1234,  died  in 
1315.  He  invented  what  he  termed  the  ars  magna,  the 
great  art,  by  which  he  hoped  to  reform  philosophy  and  the 
sciences.  It  made  the  mind  a  kind  of  automaton,  whose 
action  consisted  in  combining  mechanically  tables  of  ideas 
disposed  in  such  a  wa}^  that  their  different  correlations  would 
furnish  answers  to  all  imaginable  questions.  The  object 
was  to  procure  at  will,  in  such  or  such  a  case,  in  such  or  such 
a  circle,  such  or  such  a  principle.  The  invention  was  really 
ingenious,  and  that  universal  instrument,  which  was  to  dis- 
pense with  all  other  labor,  excited  at  first  great  enthusiasm ; 
but  the  intellectual  mechanism  proved  to  be  nothing  but 
the  dialectic  method  carried  to  its  last  consequences,  and 
showed  only  the  barrenness  of  that  mere  verbal  science. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century  the  doctrine 
of  nominalism  was  revived  in  the  person  of  Occam,  an 
Englishman,  who  was  an  independent  thinker,  refusing 
to  submit  to  authority  unsustained  by  reason.  He  main- 
tained that  "  genera  can  have  existence  only  in  things  or 
in  God.  In  things  there  are  no  genera,  for  in  them  they 
would  exist  either  wholly  or  partially ;  in  God  they  are 
not  as  an  independent  essence,  but  as  a  simple  object  of 
knowledge,  in  the  mind  they  are  nothing  more. 

"  Prior  to  this  period,  scholasticism  had  maintained  that 
between  the  exterior  bodies  placed  before  us,  and  the  mind 
of  man, ^  there  are  images  which  belong  to  the  exterior  bodies 
and  make  more  or  less  a  part  of  them,  certain  images  or 
sensible  forms  which  represent  external  objects  by  the  con- 
formity which  they  have  with  them.  So  the  mind  was 
supposed  to  be  able  to  know  spiritual  beings  only  through 
the  medium  of  intelligible  species." 

Occam  combated  this  doctrine,  maintaining  that  there 
is  nothing  real  but  spiritual  or  material  beings,  and  the 


'  Co  It  sin,  II,  -\2. 


252 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


mind  of  man,  which  directly  conceives  them.  He  was 
the  forerunner  of  Reid  and  the  Scotch  school.  lie  claimed 
that  a  knowledge  of  God  was  only  attainable  through  his 
attributes,  and  that  we  can  only  know  substances  through 
their  attributes,  and  hence  have  no  idea  of  the  nature  of  sub- 
stances. That  the  soul  can  only  be  known  through  its 
qualities,  and  that  we  have  no  knowledge  of  the  substance 
of  the  soul.  One  of  the  answers  made  by  the  theological 
realists  to  the  nominalists  was,  that  "it  is  so  true  that 
there  are  genera,  entirely  distinct  from  the  individuals,  to 
which  it  is  sought  to  reduce  them,^  that  nature,  to  which 
the  nominalists  incessantly  appeal,  sports  with  forms  and 
preserves  the  genera,  and  that  every  genus  represents  a 
real  unity." 

The  controversies  bearing  more  especially  upon  the 
realistic  and  nominalistic  doctrines  were  thus  carried  on 
through  most  of  the  fourteenth  century,  but  without  pro- 
ducing any  fruits  or  results  at  all  proportioned  to  the 
amount  of  intellectual  activity  employed  about  them. 
This  led  towards  the  latter  part  of  the  fourteenth  and  the 
forepart  of  the  fifteenth,  to  a  double  reaction.  The  first 
sought  a  refuge  in  mysticism.  Its  representative  was  Ger- 
Bon,  chancellor  of  the  University  of  Paris,  a  Frenchman, 
born  1363,  died  1429. 

According  to  Gerson,  ordinary  philosophy  proceeds  by  a 
train  of  arguments,  and  leads  regularly  but  slowly  to  God, 
by  setting  out  through  a  multitude  of  media  either  from 
nature  or  from  man. 

The  other  reaction  was  found  in  the  tendency  which  had 
for  its  object  the  union  of  religious  speculations  with  the 
observation  of  nature  and  of  man.  The  representative  of 
this  tendency  was  Raymond  of  Sebonde  who  taught  at 
Toulouse  in  1436.  He  asserted  "  that  man  had  received 
from  the  Almighty  two  books,^  wherein  he  may  discover 
the  important  facts  which  concern  his  relation  to  his  crea- 


'  Cousin,  II,  36.    "  Tetmeman,  257. 


\ 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


253 


i/ 


tor,  viz:  the  book  of  revelation  and  that  of  nature;  the 
latter  of  which  was  the  most  universal  in  its  contents,  and 
the  most  perspicuous.  He  endeavored  by  argument  to 
deduce  the  theology  of  his  age,  even  in  its  more  peculiar 
doctrines,  from  the  contemplation  of  nature  and  of  man. 

Transition  from  the  Scholastic  to  the  Modern  Philosophy/. 

Although  the  days  of  scholasticism  were  not  absolutely 
numbered  with  the  declining  years  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  yet  its  real  life,  that  which  made  it  a  vital,  liv- 
ing system,  might  be  said  to  expire  with  that  century. 
It  had  had  its  day,  performed  its  mission,  and  was  now 
passing  away.  What  was  the  purpose  it  answered  by 
existimc? 

Among  the  fundamental  laws  of  evolution  is  reckoned 
the  following  taken  by  analogy  from  the  human  organism. 
"  Every  function  is  successively  executed  by  two  (sometimes 
more)  organs;  of  which  one  is  primitive,  transitory,  pro- 
visional ;  the  other  secondary,  definite,  permanent."  ^  The 
relations  between  the  two  are  that  the  first  is  found  first 
supplying  the  place  of  the  second,  then  coexisting  with  it 
during  the  early  phases  of  the  latter's  evolution  ;  and  finally 
when  the  second  has  acquired  due  development,  the  first 
either  ceases  its  function  altogether,  or  performs  it  incom- 
pletely. Illustrations  in  the  living  organism.  Provisional 
milk  teeth ;  down  afterwards  replaced  by  hair ;  the  brachise 
of  the  tadpole.  The  changes  in  organs  occurring  in  the 
embrvonic  system  of  viviperous  animals  ofter  a  further 
illustration. 

Under  the  operation  of  this  law  the  scholastic  philosophy 
will,  finds  its  place  in  the  evolution  of  philosophy  historically, 
among  the  primitive,  transitory,  provisional  organs.  It  is 
something  more  than  a  mere  scafiblding  constructed  for 
the  sole  purpose    of  uprearing   and  perfecting  the  great 


^Le  ires' 8  Co?nte,^d. 


I 

I. 


254 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


philosophical  edifice,  because  it  is  for  the  time  being  the 
edifice  itself,  and  is  destined  forever  to  form  some  part 
of  it. 

The  scholastic  philosophy  allowed  thought  only  upon 
one  condition,  that  it  should  coincide  with  theology. 
Thus,  it  carried  along  with  it,  and  held  the  mind  through 
the  centuries,  to  an  unvarying  unity.  This,  of  itself,  gave 
to  the  European  mind,  while  in  its  formative  stages,  a 
temperament,  character,  and  habitude,  strong  and  robust. 
Its  discussions,  and  the  ideas  it  put  forth,  also  had  the 
eflect  to  root  deeply  in  the  human  intelligence,  two  funda- 
mental ideas,  those  of  God  and  his  creation.  Many  of  the 
metaphysical  and  mend  conceptions  of  that  philosophy 
are  still  living,  having  received  their  full  development  at 
later  periods  in  the  history  of  philosophy.  It  is  true,  the 
method  employed  by  it  was  radically  vicious,  as  it  sought 
in  conceptions  purely  logical,  the  principle  of  the  explana- 
tion of  things  ;  whereas,  such  conceptions  can  really  fur- 
nish nothini?  but  the  means  of  scientific  classification  and 
arrangement.  And  yet  that  method  required  develop- 
ment, and  it  must  now  be  acknowledged  that  the  great 
logical  force  which  distinguishes  the  modern  mind,  is 
due  to  the  adoption  and  systematic  carrying  out  of  this 
method. 

Besides,  although  it  gave  to  the  things  an  entire  and 
complete  supremacy,  yet  it  did  make  the  objects  of 
faith  also  the  objects  of  thought.  It  raised  men  above  the 
sphere  of  unconditional  faith.  It  admitted  of  doubt,  of 
investigation,  of  the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  and  thus 
by  its  very  effort  at  demonstration  in  theology,  it  contri- 
buted to  establish  the  authority  of  reason.  Having  thus 
introduced  into  the  world  the  thinking  spirit,  and  appealed 
to  its  actions  in  matters  of  fiiith,  it  is  not  certainly  surpris- 
ing that  that  spirit,  gathering  continued  strength  by  its 
very  action  upon  that  appeal,  should  ultimately  claim  its 
own  rights  and  prerogatives,  and  thus  lead  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  modern  system  of  philosophy. 


EUIIOPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


255 


But  although  the  scholastic  philosophy  closed  with  the 
fourteenth  century,  yet  modern  philosophy  did  not  com- 
mence until  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth.  What 
relations  then  do  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  sus- 
tain to  the  history  of  philosophy?  Very  much  what  the 
first  decade  of  years  immediately  succeeding  puberty,  sus- 
tain to  the  life  of  the  individual. 

The  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  were  characterized 
by  intense  activity,  enterprise,  discovery,  and  invention. 
All  the  elements  and  ideas  that  had  long  been  acquiring 
a  partial  development  under  the  sway  of  the  church,  now 
became  clamorous  for  a  wider  field,  and  greater  freedom 
in  action.  Europe  seemed  to  awake,  if  not  from  the 
slumber,  at  least  from  the  stationary  stand  point  of  centu- 
ries, and  to  feel  the  pulses  of  a  new  life.  Her  different 
peoples  began  each  to  enter  upon  their  respective  missions, 
and  the  development  and  solution  of  those  principles  and 
problems,  which,  in  the  world's  advancing  civilization,  had 
been  confided  to  them. 

A  number  of  important  events  and  facts  precede  and 
occupy  this  period.  Among  the  more  prominent  of  these 
are  the  Crusades,  the  invention  of  printing,  the  conquest  of 
Constantinople,  the  discovery  of  the  passage  around  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  India,  the  discovery  of  the  new  world, 
the  reformation,  the  growing  independence  of  the  church  in 
the  life  of  the  state,  the  influence  acquired  by  public  opinion, 
the  stronger  consolidation  of  the  civil  authority,  the  advance- 
ment of  experimental  knowledge  and  the  sciences,  and  the 
cultivation  and  improvement  of  the  languages  of  modern 
Europe  based  upon  a  more  intimate  knowledge  of  the 
classics. 

Of  all  these,  the  most  important  in  its  bearing  upon  the 
destinies  of  philosophy  was  the  conquest  of  Constantinople 
by  the  Turks,  occurring  about  the  middle  of  the  fifteenth 
century.  Within  the  walls  of  that  city  were  collected  the 
treasures  of  ancient  learning,  the  works  of  the  Grecian 
philosophers.     There  lay  Plato  and  Aristotle  embalmed  in 


256 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


their  original  Greek.  There  were  the  most  fiiultless  models 
of  composition  then  existing  in  the  world.  To  all  these 
was  applicable  the  language  of  the  caliph  Omar  when  he 
consigned  to  the  flames  the  vast  Alexandrian  library,  viz : 
that  if  they  contained  nothing  but  the  Koran  they  were 
useless;  if  anything  not  within  the  Koran,  they  were  irre- 
ligious, and  in  either  case  should  be  destroyed. 

These  treasures,  therefore,  could  not  abide  in  Constanti- 
nople. They  became  the  property  of  Europe,  first  of  Italy, 
then  of  France,  Spain,  Germany  and  England.  They 
awoke  the  mind  everywhere  to  a  new  life. 

The  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  constitute  the  period 
of  transition  between  the  scholastic  and  modern  philosophy. 
The  introduction  of  the  Greek  language,  literature  and 
philosophy  into  Europe  aroused  and  intoxicated  the  minds 
of  her  scholars.  The  first  process  was  that  of  absorption. 
The  various  Greek  systems,  in  the  language  in  which  they 
were  written,  were  received  into  the  European  mind,  that 
mind  so  recently  imbued  with  theological  learning,  and 
just  making  its  escape  from  the  rigid  bonds  of  scholastic 


reasonmg. 


The  next  process  was  its  transforming  influence  upon  the 
receptive  mind.  It  is  a  property  of  the  mind  "  to  grow  by 
what  it  feeds  on."  It  is  the  spark  issued  from  great  men- 
tal batteries  that  "  touches  the  electric  chain  wherewith  we 
are  darkly  bound."  The  bringing  the  mind  of  Europe 
directly  in  contact  with  those  great  original  thinkers,  and 
that  through  those  peerless  models  of  taste  and  beauty, 
which  the  Greek  language  was  more  especially  qualified 
to  embody  and  present,  could  not  but  work  great  changes, 
not  in  the  original  constitution,  but  in  the  modes  of  action 
and  the  manner  of  thinking  of  the  European  mind. 

The  third  and  last  process  was  in  the  reproduction  of 
the  Grecian  systems  of  thought  with  such  modifications  as 
the  European  mind,  acting  upon  its  original  constitution, 
and  yet  carrying  along  with  it  many  of  the  principles  of 
its  earlier  scholastic  culture,  and  also  strongly  impressed 


i. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


257 


with  the  spirit  of  its  own  age,  would  be  likely  to  originate. 
Neither  the  philosophers  nor  the  philosophizing  of  this 
transition  period  are  subjects  of  profitable  study,  certainly 
not  to  any  extent  of  detail.  It  will  be  more  profitable, 
with  a  view  to  the  better  understanding  of  the  future 
developments  of  philosophy,  to  inqui'^e  here  into  the  four 
great  systems,  or  rather  into  the  four  great  channels,  into 
some  one  of  which,  all  philosophical  thinking  must 
necessarily  run,  and  the  full  and  complete  development 
of  each  one  of  which,  it  is  for  all  coming  time  to  unfold 
and  explain.  These  channels  are  sensualism,  idealism, 
skepticism  and  mysticism.  In  some  one  of  these  singly, 
or  in  two  or  more  combined  together,  are  to  be  found 
all  the  schools  and  systems  of  philosophy  that  ever  existed. 

It  is  important  here  to  observe  that  the  one  ground 
common  to  all  these,  the  one  power  to  which  they  all 
appeal,  the  one  arbiter  to  whose  decrees  they  all  submit, 
is  that  of  personal  consciousness.  That  this  is  the  same 
in  every  individual  all  reasoning  on  these  subjects  assumes, 
and  this  is  the  one  great  fact  which  identifies  every  human 
being  as  a  member  of  one  and  the  same  race.  In  regard 
to  this  it  is  true  that  consciousness  is  the  "  universe  in  the 
limits  of  human  perception,"  and  that  whatever  cannot  find 
a  recognition  in  the  consciousness  of  the  individual,  cannot, 
as  to  him,  exist  at  all. 

It  is  in  the  tacts  of  consciousness  that  we  find  the  four 
great  channels  to  which  reference  has  just  been  made. 
The  first  and  the  most  obvious  is  sensualism. 

The  organs  of  sense  are  variously  affected  through 
agencies  apparently  external  to  ourselves.  The  sensations 
produced  are  recognized  in  the  consciousness,  and  thus  be- 
come facts  of  the  mental  being.  They  are  referred  to  the  im- 
pression made  upon  the  organs,  and  thus  become  connected 
with  the  organism.  At  the  same  time,  reference  is  made 
to  external  objects,  which  then  become  the  root  of  our 
sensations,  and  hence  of  our  ideas. 

VI]  33 


258 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


It  is  an  incontestible  truth  that  there  are  quite  a  large 
number  of  phenomena  of  such  a  character  that  we  can 
neither  produce  nor  destroy  them,  neither  augment  nor 
diminish  them.  Thus  the  emotions,  desires,  passions, 
propensities,  exist  within  us,  and  a  series  of  phenomena  to 
which  they  are  related,  without  us;  introducing  into  the 
soul  sensations,  not  simply  irrespective  of  its  will,  but  in 
spite  of  it.  Thus  the  phenomenon  of  sensation  is,  there- 
fore, clearly  without  the  empire  of  the  will.  It  is  also 
equally  clear  that  very  many  of  the  motives  to  action, 
influencing  conduct,  spring  from  the  sensations.  And  so 
also  observation  and  analysis  show  that  large  classes  of 
ideas,  and  the  knowledge  which  they  constitute,  are  derived 
from  the  same  source. 

With  these  concessions  the  sensualistic  schools  and 
systems  go  further,  and  claim  that  we  are  purely  creatures 
of  sensation,  and  have  no  ideas,  and  no  knowledge,  except 
what  is  derived  from  this  source  ;  that  consciousness  finds 
its  limits  in  sensation,  and  thus  the  ultimate  result  is  ma- 
terialism. 

This  doctrine  in  its  extent  can  only  be  true  on  condition 
that  consciousness  cannot  render  up  a  single  element  which 
sensation  cannot  produce  and  explain.  But  there  are 
elements  wholly  inexplicable  upon  that  principle.  Whence 
the  will,  the  voluntary  principle;  the  idea  of  personal  iden- 
tity; the  idea  of  unity;  that  of  time  and  space;  the  idea  of 
infinity ;  in  other  words,  the  elements  that  enter  into  the 
composition  of  the  human  soul.  Those  are  necessarily 
purely  psychological  and  derive  nothing  from  sensation. 

Upon  the  strength  of  these  facts  and  the  reasonings  con- 
nected with  them,  idealism  builds  up  its  exclusive  systems. 
Finding  so  many  and  such  powerful  elements  in  the  soul, 
and  looking  singly  at  them,  it  annihilates  the  material 
world,  and  founds  on  the  soul  alone  its  systems  of  thought 
and  philosophy. 

All  the  systems  and  schools,  whether  sensualistic  or  ideal- 
istic, are  dogmatical  in  their  character.     They  are  so  because 


I 


i 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


259 


their  doctrines  are  all  positive  affirmations,  and  must  be  met 
by  an  admission,  a  denial,  or  a  qualification.  When  these 
systems  and  schools  are  pushed  to  their  extremest  limits,  and 
arrive  at  their  ultimate  conclusions,  what  are  they?  The 
one  banishes  the  human  soul,  the  other  the  material 
world.  What  are  the  avenues  of  escape  aside  from  the 
reasonings  by  which  their  conclusions  may  be  combated. 

There  are  two,  skepticism  and  mysticism.  The  first 
receives  those  that  think  ;    the  second,  those  that  feel. 

Skepticism  is  wholly  oppose  to  dogmatism.  While  act- 
ing upon  its  legitimate  principles,  it  affirms  nothing.  It 
simply  doubts,  inquires,  asks  solutions.  "It  is  the  first 
appearance  of  common  sense  upon  the  stage  of  philosophy." 
It  should  properly  precede  or  lie  at  the  foundation  of  every 
sensualistic  and  idealistic  system.  It  should  accompany 
those  systems  in  each  process  and  progress.  In  the  sensual- 
istic it  should  ask  :  Is  every  sensation  by  itself  infallible  ? 

Are  two  sensations  more  infallible  than  one  ?  Admitted 
that  reason  rectifies  tliom.  But  is  reason  a  product  of 
sensation  ?  Again,  what  is  the  instrument  of  all  your  sys- 
tem ?  Is  it  not  a  perpetual  generation,  an  engendering 
of  ideas  from  sensations,  and  whence  do  you  derive  the 
cause?  Whence  do  you  derive  even  the  very  unity  of 
your  system  ? 

To  the  idealistic  system  makers,  it  asks  whether  there 
are  not  ideas  which  the  reason  unaided  could  never  furnish  ? 
It  pushes  away  from  idealism  the  external  world,  which 
to  be  consistent  with  itself  it  must  reject,  and  then  asks 
what  it  expects  to  perform  when  it  has  no  other  theatre 
than  its  own  material,  a  spirit  which  can  act  only  upon 
itself,  exhausted  in  the  solitary  contemplation  of  its  own 
forces,  and  its  own  laws. 

Thus  "  reflection,  in  occupying  itself  with  one  of  the 
parts  of  consciousness,  the  sensational  part,  has  arrived  at 
sensualism.  In  occupying  itself  with  the  intellectual  part 
and  the  ideas  which  pertain  to  reason,  it  has  arrived  at 
idealism.     In  returning  upon  itself,  upon  its  powers  and 


260 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


t 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


261 


their  legitimate  employment,  and  upon  the  two  systems 
which  it  had  already  produced,  it  has  arrived  at  skepticism." 

But  skepticism  is  liable  to  its  abase,  as  well  as  sensual- 
ism and  idealism.  There  are  in  all  the  sensualistic  and 
idealistic  systems,  some  things  that  are  true  and  some 
that  are  false.  Skepticism  is  legitimately  employed  only 
when  it  doubts  the  false.  Its  abuse  consists  in  doubting 
equally  the  false  and  the  true,  and  in  extending  its  doubt 
to  all  systems  whatever.  In  fact,  when  it  pushes  its 
doctrine  to  its  last  possible  result,  and  comes  to  the  posi- 
tive conclusion  that  there  is  no  truth,  no  certainty,  it  then 
ceases  to  combat  the  dogmatism  of  other  systems,  and 
becomes  itself  dogmatic,  from  being  a  mere  negation,  it  is 
transformed  into  a  positive  system  of  philosophy  quite  as 
exclusive,  dogmatic,  and  extravagant  as  any  other. 

There  is  one  remaining  source  of  philosophical  schools 
and  systems,  or  rather  channel,  through  which  flows  both 
thinking  and  feeling,  and  that  is  mysticism.  It  may  also 
furnish  a  retreat  to  those  who  are  mourning  over  the 
abuses  of  sensualism,  idealism,  or  skepticism. 

"We  have  before  alluded  to  the  spontaneous  action  of 
the  mental  powers,  as  contradistinguished  from  the  exercise 
of  reflective  power,  and  giving  rise  to  the  active  business 
men  of  the  world.     We  now  wish  to  call  attention  to  the 
original  spontaneous  movements  of  the  human  soul  and 
mind,  and  which  being  seized  and  appropriated  by  reflec- 
tion, constitutes  mysticism.     Prior  to  all   reflection,  ''all 
our  faculties,   in   their  spontaneous   energy,   enter    into 
exercise ;   the  reason  with  the  senses,  the  senses  wdth  the 
reason,  free  activity  with  the  reason  and  the  senses."^ 
The  experience  here  invoked  is  neither  that  of  the  reason 
nor  the  senses,  but  the  consciousness  of  a  certain  number 
of  sentiments  and  phenomena  which  occur  in  the  inmost 
recesses   of   the   religious   soul.     It   appropriates   all  the 
phenomena  of  intuition.     When  the  sentiments  and  the 


*  Coimn,  I,  357. 


phenomena  flow  on  with  the  same  spontaniety  as  that 
which  gave  them  origin,  then  all  are  within  the  empire  of 
religion ;  when  the  same,  as  seized  and  appropriated  by 
reflection,  to  philosophy.  The  first  gives  rise  to  a  kind  of 
inspiration,  which  is  primitive  and  anterior  to  all  reflec- 
tion ;  the  second,  to  a  knowledge  of  the  secret  workings 
of  the  soul,  prior  to  that  period  when  its  own  will  enters 
into  and  modifies  them.  It  is  generally  found  mingling 
religion  with  philosophy,  and  partaking  more  largely  of  the 
former  then  the  latter. 

Of  these  four  channels  in  which  have  run  the  currents  of 
reflection  by  far  the  greatest  number  of  the  schools  and 
systems  of  thought  are  included  in  the  two  first  mentioned. 
Each  one  of  these  presents  a  stand  point,  peculiarly  its 
own,  which  characterizes  all  its  modes  of  thinkino:  and  re- 
fleeting.  That  of  sensualism  is  termed  the  objective,  in 
which  reflection  applies  itself  to,  and  develops  the  objects 
of  perception.  The  external  universe,  nature,  all  the  pro- 
cesses by  which  the  physical  world  is  enabled  to  present  its 
many-sided  phenomena,  become  matters  of  observation, 
investigation,  and  ultimately  of  knowledge. 

That  of  idealism  is  termed  the  subjective,  in  which 
reflection  turns  its  eye  inward  upon  its  own  processes,  en- 
deavors to  sound  the  depths  of  its  own  spiritual  being ; 
brings  distinctly  within  the  empire  of  consciousness  all  the 
phenomena  of  thought;  and  seeks  from  the  elements  of  the 
reason,  with  the  aids  of  the  understanding,  to  deduce  the 
phenomena  of  the  universe.  Difterent  schools,  as  we  shall 
have  occasion  to  see,  plant  themselves  upon  each  one  of 
these  stand  points ;  and  by  claiming  and  seeking  to  explain 
all  phenomena  upon  its  own  peculiar  and  exclusive  princi- 
ples, leads  to  the  general  result  of  developing,  to  the 
greatest  possible  extent,  everything  relating  to  each  stand 
point. 

Down  to  the  commencement  of  the  fifteenth  century, 
the  currents  of  European  thought  and  reflection,  so  far  as 
philosophy  was  concerned,  were  limited  to  three  of  these 


262 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


263 


channels.  Skepticism  was  the  one  excluded.  The  church, 
which  furnished  the  basis  of  reflection,  would  never  admit 
of  doubt.  Its  dogmatizing  was  positive,  wholly  precluding 
the  skeptical  element.  But  during  the  transition  period, 
which  carries  us  through  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centu- 
ries to  the  commencement  of  modern  philosophy,  there  are 
schools  and  systems  of  thought  coursing  through  each  of 
these  channels,  although  far  less  regular  and  clearly  defined 
in  their  character  and  outline  than  those  which  subse- 
quently came  upon  the  stage  of  action. 

The  first  schools  of  much  importance  that  arose  in  the 
fifteenth  century  originated  in  Italy,  and  were  idealistic 
and  sensualistic,  the  first  claiming  Plato  as  its  guide,  and 
teacher,  the  second  Aristotle.  The  representative  of  the 
first  was  Marsilio  Ficino,  a  Florentine,  born  1433,  died 
1489.  Under  the  auspices  of  Cosmo  de  Medici,  he  founded 
the  academy  in  Florence  in  1460.  His  great  object  was  to 
apply  his  views  of  the  Platonic  system  to  the  defense  and 
explanation  of  Christianity.  He  won  over  John  Picus, 
count  of  Mirandula,  who  held  in  great  esteem  the  cabal- 
istical  writings,  almost  ascribing  to  them  a  divine  origin, 
and  considering  them  necessary  to  explain  the  Christian 
religion.  He  endeavored  to  prove  the  consistency  of  the 
Aristotelian  and  Platonic  systems. 

Platonic  idealism,  thus  setting  out  from  the  Florentine 
academy,  under  Ficino,  marched  on  through  the  French 
Ramus,  the  German  Taurellus,  the  Dalmatian  Patrizi,  until 
it  culminated  in  the  Neapolitan,  Giordano  Bruno,  who  died 
its  martyr.  Ramus,  born  in  Picardy  in  1515,  and  who 
perished  in  the  massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  undertook  the 
reform  of  logic.  Aristotle  reigned  at  that  time  supreme  in 
the  University  of  Paris.  He  assailed  the  Aristotelian  logic, 
as  being  inapplicable  to  the  sciences,  the  arts,  and  the 
affairs  of  life.  He  subjected  its  methods  to  severe  criti- 
cism, and  produced  much  excitement  in  the  schools. 

The  most  remarkable  man  who  is  reckoned  as  belonging 
to  tills  school  is  Giordano  Bruno,  born  at  Nola,  in  Italy, 


about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  who  expired 
at  the  stake  in  Rome  the  first  year  of  the  seventeenth. 

Bruno  held  that  God  is  one,  comprehending  in  himself 
all  essences,  being  the  substance  of  all  things  and  also  their 
cause,  the  soul  of  the  universe,  which  permeates  all  things, 
bestowing  upon  them  their  forms  and  attributes.  The  end 
contemplated  is  the  perfection  of  all  things,  consisting  in 
the  development  of  the  various  modifications  of  which  the 
difierent  parts  of  matter  are  susceptible.  The  great  first 
principle  is  incomprehensible  because  absolute  and  uncom- 
pounded.^  His  substance  and  creative  energies  being  de- 
termined by  his  nature.  His  will  a  necessity.  He  is  in 
all  things,  and  all  things  in  him.  He  pervades  the  smallest 
portions  of  the  universe,  as  well  as  its  infinite  expanse, 
influencing  every  atom  as  well  as  the  whole.  All  things 
are  animated ;  all  good,  because  proceeding  from  a  being 
essentially  good. 

The  world  is  also  one,  infinite,  eternal,  and  imperish- 
able, the  shadow  of  the  supreme  principle.  The  matter 
which  is  its  element  was  originally  formless,  but  from  its 
union  and  identification  with  the  primitive  and  eternal 
form,  it  virtually  contains  all  possible  modifications  of  form. 
He  held  to  the  Pythagorean  system  of  numbers  as  explaining 
the  manner  in  which  all  things  are  derived  from  the  infinite 
being  as  unity.  The  first  principle,  by  the  multiplication 
of  its  own  unity  causes  the  production  of  multiplicity, 
diversity,  and  variety,  and  while  giving  birth  to  species 
and  individuals,  is  itself  unlimited  and  unconfined  by 
number,  measure,  or  relation.  It  remains  always  one,  and 
in  every  respect  indivisible.  By  it  all  things  are  animated. 
The  universe  may  be  represented  as  a  living  being,  an 
immense  and  infinite  animal,  in  which  all  things  live  and 
act. 

That  the  world  is  eternal  is  shown :  1.  From  the  im- 
mortal destiny  of  man.     2.  From  the   infinitude  of  the 


*  Tenneman,  286. 


264 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Creator's  power.  3.  From  the  goodness  of  tbe  divine 
being.  4.  From  our  ideas  of  infinite  space.  5.  From  the 
impossibility  of  finding  a  central  point.  The  latter  he 
applies  to  the  defense  and  confirmation  of  the  Copernican 
system.  Our  knowledge  consists  in  the  perception  of 
similitudes  and  relations,  and  we  gradually  arrive  at  the 
idea  of  unity  by  combining  the  multifiirious  objects  pre- 
sented to  our  senses.  The  recognition  of  unity  existing  in 
contraries,  is  the  end  of  all  philosophy.  In  every  indi- 
vidual the  soul  assumes  a  particular  form.  As  it  is  simple 
and  uncompounded  it  is  immortal,  and  by  extension  and 
contraction  it  forms  and  fashions  its  own  body.  Birth  is 
the  consequence  of  expansion  of  the  centre.  Life  consists 
in  the  maintenance  of  a  spherical  shape,  while  death  is  the 
contraction  into  the  same  centre.  The  highest  end  of  all 
free  agents  is  the  same  with  that  of  the  divine  intellect, 
viz:  the  perfection  of  the  whole. 

Thus  the  system  of  Bruno  resolved  itself  into  a  species 
of  pantheism,  and  by  many  was  misunderstood  as  a  system 
of  atheism.  In  it  may  be  found  some  of  the  roots  of  the 
subsequent  ones  of  Spinoza  and  Schelling. 

But  the  European  mind  could  not  easily  relinquish  its 
hold  of  Aristotle,  although  the  Aristotle  of  the  middle  ages, 
even  after  having  passed  through  the  alembic  of  the 
Arabian  mind,  was  considerably  difl'ereut  from  him  of  the 
dispersed  Greeks  of  Constantinople. 

The  first  school  of  the  new  peripatetic  sensualism  was 
also  of  Italian  origin,  and  established  in  the  philosophical 
school  of  Bologna  and  of  Padua  by  Peter  Pomponatius, 
who  was  born  at  Mantua  in  1462,  and  died  at  Bologna  in 
1525.  He  discussed  many  questions  of  interest  as  free-vdll, 
fate,  providence,  and  the  question  whether  the  phenomena 
of  nature,  which  bear  the  appearance  of  being  marvelous, 
are  produced  by  the  agency  of  spirits,  or  by  that  of  the 
constellations.  In  reference  to  the  soul  and  its  immortality 
he  maintained  that  according  to  the  peripatetic  doctrine 
the  soul  thinks  by  virtue  of  itself,  but  that  it  never  thinks 


EUROPE  — ITS  FlllLOSOPIlY. 


265 


ii 


i 


except  on  condition  that  there  is  also  in  the  consciousness 
an  external  image.  As  this  image  is  attached  to  the  sensi- 
bility, and  this  to  the  existence  of  the  body,  it  would 
follow  that  on  the  dissolution  of  the  body  the  image  also 
perishes,  and  with  it  the  thought  upon  which  it  was 
conditioned.  Hence,  there  could  be  no  proof  of  the  soul's 
immortality.  This  brought  him  into  conflict  with  the 
church,  but  here  he  finally  took  refuge  in  the  doctrine 
that  it  was  for  revealed  and  not  natural  religion  to  establish 
the  soul's  immortality. 

The  school  of  Padua  produced  several  celebrated  per- 
sonages. By  its  doctrine  "  God  was  considered  not  as  the 
cause  but  the  substance  of  the  world.*  Consequently  the 
demonstration  of  God's  existence  is  no  longer  made  per 
motum,  as  among  the  Alexandrians,  but  by  emanation  of 
light,  per  lucem."  Finally  Vanini,  a  mapolitan,  born 
1585,  was  burned  at  Toulouse  in  1619,  on  the  allegation 
of  atheism.  His  atheism  was  gathered  from  his  mode  of 
demonstrating  the  existence  of  a  God,  viz:  ''  not  from  the 
necessity  of  a  first  cause,  but  from  the  necessity  of  an  infi- 
nite being,  not  as  cause,  but  as  substance." 

Near  the  commencement  of  the  sixteenth  century  ap- 
peared Bernado  Telesio,  a  ISTeapolitan,  born  in  1508,  and 
died  in  1588,  who  was  a  strong  advocate  for  physical  sci- 
ence, admitting  God  as  the  creator,  but  allowing  him  no 
intervention  in  the  theory  of  the  world.  He  maintained 
that  it  was  necessary  to  set  out  from  real  entities,  and  not 
from  abstractions.  He  also  combats  scholasticism,  and  re- 
calls his  age  to  the  sentiment  of  reality,  to  the  study  of 
nature.  He  asserts  the  experience  of  the  senses  as  the 
only  rule  of  philosophical  induction,  and  thus  was  the  fore- 
runner of  Bacon. 

Another  Italian,  a  Calabrian,  Thomas  Campanella,  born 
in   1568,  died  in  1639,  undertook  the  reform  of  every 


*  Cousin,  IT,  262. 
VI] 


34 


\ 


26G 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


part  of  pbilosophy.  He  admitted  the  existence  of  two 
sources,  and  only  two,  of  all  knowledge,  viz :  revelation 
and  nature.  All  intelligence  he  reduced  to  the  faculty  of 
feehng,  of  perceiving  the  modifications  of  our  own  being. 
Thought  is  nothing  but  the  generalization  of  various  per- 
ceptions, and  sentiment  is  their  collective  whole.  Logic  he 
regarded  as  an  intellectual  instrument  to  be  appropriated 
particularly  to  the  study  of  nature. 

He  was  the  contemporary  of  Bacon,  and  like  him  com- 
menced with  deducing  all  knowledge  from  experiment. 
But  instead  of  pursuing  the  track  he  launches  oft*  into  a 
vast  system  of  metaphysics,  considering  all  creatures  as  com- 
posed of  being  and  non-being;  the  former  constituted  by 
power,  wisdom  and  love,  and  having  for  their  object  essence, 
truth  and  goodness,  while  non-being  has  weakness,  igno- 
rance, and  hatred.  The  three  primordial  qualities  of  being 
subsist  originally  in  the  supreme  being,  composing  one,  yet 
distinct.  In  drawing  all  things  from  non-being,  he  trans- 
fers his  ideas  into  matter  under  the  condition  of  time,  the 
image  of  eternity,  and  upon  the  basis  of  space  lie  communi- 
cates to  finite  beings  the  three  qualities  which  become  the 
principles  of  the  universe  under  the  triple  law  of  necessity, 
of  providence,  and  of  harmony.  With  this,  metaphysics,  as 
the  centre  of  all  his  speculations,  are  coordinated  a  physical 
philosophy,  a  physiological  philosophy,  and  a  social  or 
political  philosophy.  All  these  are  mere  speculations,  now 
of  little  value.  It  has  been  well  said,  that  he  recommended 
experience  without  practicing  it,  and  showed  the  necessity 
of  a  revolution  without  consummatinir  it.*' 

The  skepticis^i  of  modern  times  had  its  origin  during 
the  transition  period.  It  had  its  origin  in  Montaigne,  a 
Frenchman  born  in  1533,  and  died  in  1592.  "His  acute 
observation  of  the  disagreement  existing  between  all  philo- 
sophical theories  produced  in  him  a  way  of  thinking  akin 
to  positive  skepticism,  in  matters  of  philosophy ;  and  he 
pronounced  the  uncertainty  of  human  knowledge  and  the 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPnY. 


i 


/ 


267 


feebleness  of  human  reason  to  be  the  grand  conclusions 
to  which  all  his  observations  had  led  him.  He  reposed, 
however,  with  sincere  faith  on  the  authority  of  divine 
revelation.^  The  uncertainity  ascribed  by  him  to  all 
human  science  he  extended  even  to  matters  of  practice, 
without,  however,  denying  the  truth  of  practical  obli- 
gations. Thus  was  skepticism  fairly  announced  about 
the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  but  its  legitimate 
fruits,  as  also  its  abuses,  belong  to  the  development  of 
modern  philosophy. 

Mysticism  had  an  earlier  commencement  and  a  fuller  de- 
velopment during  the  transition  period.  It  may  be  regarded 
rather  as  a  continuation  from  an  earlier  period.  Nicholas 
de  Cusa  was  a  German,  and  born  near  Treves  in  1401,  and 
died  in  Italy,  in  1464.  He  divided  philosophy  into  two 
orders,  viz :  "  transcendental  science,  whose  object  is  the 
primitive,  absolute,  indefinite,  unity;  and  inferior  science, 
which  lias  multiplicity  for  its  object." 

The  absolute  unity  can  be  known  only  by  its  symbols. 
All  beings  proceeded  from  a  primal  unity,  like  fractions 
from  their  unit. 

The  phenomena  of  nature  and  mathematics  have  a  cor- 
respondence to  each  other.  And  so  human  reason  operates 
not  except  by  means  of  ideas  of  numbers.  Such  being  its 
constitutive  form. 

Humanity  aspires  after  unity  or  perfection,  without  de- 
siring to  lose  its  own  proper  nature.  "  Humanity,  that  by 
which  all  men  are  men,  is  one,  and  the  movement  of  my 
human  nature  has  for  its  object  the  attainment  of  God  in 
man." 

Theophrastus  I*aracelsus,  a  Swiss,  born  in  1493,  and  who 
died  at  Saltzburg,  1541,  aimed  at  rendering  himself  a 
reformer  in  medicine,  and  took  as  the  basis  of  his  reforma- 
tion, and  of  all  his  physical  speculations,  theosophy,  that 

*  Tennenian,  289. 


268 


HISTOKY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


269 


is,  a  direct  communication  of  the  soul  with  God  by  means 
of  illumination.  Thus  he  is  brought  within  the  empire  of 
mysticism. 

He  maintiiined  that  the  soul  so  far  resembles  God  that  it 
contains  in  its  own  depths  all  truth  that  man  can  know.  It 
is  full  of  sciences,  but  its  notions  are  veiled  or  obscured. 
The  truths  of  science  can  only  be  arrived  at  by  retiring 
within  one's  self,  into  the  essential  intelligence  which  lies 
in  the  depths  of  his  own  nature,  where  the  truth  is  per- 
ceived, not  actively  but  passively,  but  by  divine  illumina- 
tion, purity  of  heart  being  its  condition,  and  prayer  its 
means  of  attainment. 

The  plan  of  creation  is  one,  and  the  universe  is  made 
after  the  same  model  as  man.  All  parts  of  the  universe 
are  full  of  souls,  who  are  not  gifted  with  intelligence,  man 
only  being  created  in  the  image  of  God.  Souls  are  enve- 
loped in  matter,  a  dark  and  dead  thing.  Between  souls 
and  matter  or  bodies,  exists  the  spirit,  a  sort  of  fluid,  the 
physical  means  of  the  universal  life.  Thus  is  constituted* 
his  trinity  of  nature,  the  soul,  the  fluid,  the  body,  a  coun- 
terpart, in  some  respects,  of  the  divine  trinity. 

Man  contains  in  himself  three  principles,  three  worlds, 
three  heavens.  1.  The  soul,  by  which  he  communicates 
with  God,  or  the  archetypal  world.  2.  The  material 
body,  which  puts  him  in  connection  with  the  element- 
ary world.  3.  The  spiritual  body,  which,  being  formed 
of  etherial  fluid,  is  in  perpetual  communication  with  the 
angelic,  astral  world. 

Thus  the  triple  nature  of  man  and  of  tlie  world  being 
identical,  there  exists  in  man  a  force  of  attraction  by  which 
he  aspires  to  the  life  of  the  world.  This  attraction  is 
developed :  1.  In  a  magnetic  power,  which  draws  from  the 
elements  the  nourishment  of  his  flesli  and  blood. ^  2.  In 
a  superior  magnetism,  which  attracts  the  spiritual  fluid,  the 


principle  of  sensations  and  of  worldly  wisdom.  3.  The 
whole  of  this  is  subordinated  to  the  aspiration  by  which  the 
soul  is  nourished  from  God. 

But  he  also  held  that  while  man  attracts  all  the  forces  of 
nature  he  improves  them  in  himself,  and  recalls  them  all 
to  God,  the  universal  centre.  Thus,  according  to  his  phi- 
losophy, the  world  is  a  flux  and  reflux  of  the  divine  life  by 
means  of  man. 

J.  Baptist  Van  Helmont,  born  at  Brussels  1577,  died  at 
Vienna  1644,  attached  himself  to  the  doctrines  of  Para- 
celsus, deriving  all  knowledge  from  direct  and  immediate 
revelation.  He  attacked  the  processes  of  logir  claiming 
that  the  knowledge  of  the  relation  which  exists  between  the 
terms  of  a  syllogism,^  exists  in  our  mind  prior  to  the  con- 
clusion, and  that  logic  is  therefore  nothing  more  than  a 
means  of  recapitulating  anterior  notions,  which  can  have 
no  other  use  than  to  facilitate  the  exposition  of  ideas 
on  the  part  of  a  speaker,  and  the  recollection  of  them 
on  that  of  the  hearer.  The  conclusion  he  drew  from 
this  was  that  all  true  science  was  independent  of  demon- 
stration, and  can  be  acquired  only  by  pure  intuition. 
The  internal  cause  of  phenomena  he  called  archeus,  and 
held  that  it  consisted  in  the  union  of  spirit,  of  the  vital 
breath,  with  the  seminal  image,  or  internal  type  of  each 
being. 

The  latest,  and  perhaps  the  most  perfect  representative 
of  the  mysticism  of  this  period,  is  to  be  found  in  Jacob 
Bohme,  a  poor  shoemaker  of  Goilitz,  born  in  1575,  and 
who  died  in  1624.  He  is  called  the  Teutonic  philosopher. 
The  fundamental  points  of  his  doctrines  are  :  "  1.  The 
impossibility  of  arriving  at  truth  by  any  other  process 
than  illumination.  2.  A  theory  of  the  creation.  3.  The 
relations  of  man  to  God.  4.  The  essential  identity 
of  the  soul  and  of  God,  and  the  determination  of  their 


^History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  11, 12. 


'  Ilistory  of  Philosophy,  ii,  13. 


I 


270 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


I  > 

P 

I 


difference  as  to  form.  5.  The  origin  of  evil.  6.  The 
reintegration  of  the  soul.  7.  A  symbolical  exposition  of 
Christianity." 

Thus  we  are  brought  to  the  close  of  the  transition  period, 
the  termination  of  the  sixteenth  century.  We  have  seen 
the  four  great  cliannels  into  which  philosophy  runs,  more 
properly,  perhaps,  and  certainly  more  conveniently,  denomi- 
nated the  four  great  principles  lying  at  the  foundation  of 
all  reflection,  sensualism,  idealism,  skepticism  and  mys- 
ticism, partially  but  very  incompletely  developed.  The 
following  are  their  distribution  among  the  nationalities  of 
Europe  : 

The  two  first  mentioned  originated  in  Italy,  and  passed 
thence  into  the  other  countries  of  Europe.^ 

Skepticism  was  whol  ly  confined  to  France. 

Mysticism,  although  derived  from  an  Italian  source,  yet 
spread  principally  in  Germany,  claiming  stronger  afiinities 
with  the  elements  of  the  Teutonic  mind. 


Modern  Philosophy  —  Bacon, 

Modern  philosophy  commences  with  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. The  period  had  arrived  in  the  history  of  the  world's 
thinking  at  which  refiection  could  commence  upon  system, 
and  by  means  of  successive  schools  and  systems  of  thought, 
carry  out  and  exhibit  consecutively,  those  forms,  phases 
and  processes  wliich  mark  its  advancement,  and  proclaim 
the  different  stages  in  its  course  of  development.  It  had 
traveled  a  long  way  to  reach  this  period.  To  say  notliing 
of  its  sojourn  among  the  oriental  nations,  it  had  occui)ie(l 
the  Greek  mind  for  twelve  centuries,  extending  from 
Thales  and  Pythagoras,  to  the  closing  of  the  schools  at 
Athens,  by  Justinian.  It  had  demanded  of  the  mingled 
races  of  Italy,  the  Teutonic  and  Celtic  combinations  of 


^  Cousin,  II,  73. 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


271 


f 


±\ 


France,  and  the  purer  Teutonism  of  Germany  and  Eng- 
land, the  recognition  of  its  claims,  and  the  exercise  of  its 
powers,  for  eight  centuries,  from  the  commencement  of 
the  ninth  to  that  of  the  seventeenth.  It  had  served  a  long 
apprenticeship  with  theology ;  and  finally,  its  term  being 
accomplished,  it  had  separated  from  it,  and  proclaimed 
its  independence.  It  had  reproduced  in  the  modern  Euro- 
pean mind,  with  such  modifications  as  the  new  elements 
in  its  composition  demanded,  many  of  the  early  systems 
and  forms  of  thought,  that  had  stirred  the  brains  of  the 
Grecian  philosophers. 

And  now  it  is  about  to  make  its  entrance  upon  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  demands  of  the  age  upon  it 
are  heavy  and  imperative.  Industry  and  enterprise  have 
been  at  work,  opening  up  new  avenues  and  new  worlds  to 
man's  restless  spirit.  Physical  science  is  urging  its  claims 
and  making  its  discoveries.  Galileo  had  pointed  his 
telescope  to  the  stars;  Copernicus  discovered  the  true 
solar  system ;  and  Kepler,  the  laws  of  planetary  motion. 
Problems  of  profound  and  practical  importance  were 
pressing  for  solution.  One  great  question  was  moving  in 
the  minds  of  men,  and  that  related  to  the  origin  and  the 
certainty  of  knowledge.  Investigations  were  also  being 
made  as  to  the  ultimate  grounds  of  moral  right,  and  of 
moral  obligation.  From  this  time  onward,  we  may  expect 
order,  and  system,  and  method  to  preside  over  the  work- 
ings of  reflection. 

Modern  philosophy  has  been  so  rich  a  field  of  investiga- 
tion that  the  laborers  in  it  have  been  numerous.  We  can, 
of  course,  notice  only  those  who  are  the  most  prominent, 
who  are  themselves  the  authors  of  systems,  or  whose 
labors  have  been  productive  in  the  development  of  par- 
ticular schools. 

Again,  there  are  two  plans  or  principles  upon  which  to 
exhibit  modern  philosophy;  the  one  the  most  usually 
adopted,  is  the  chronological  plan  or  principle,  to  detail 


270 


HISTORY  OP  CIVILIZATION. 


i 


difference  as  to  form.  5.  The  origin  of  evil.  6.  The 
reintegration  of  the  soul.  7.  A  symbolical  exposition  of 
Christianity." 

Thus  we  are  brought  to  the  close  of  the  transition  period, 
the  termination  of  the  sixteenth  century.  We  have  seen 
the  four  great  channels  into  which  philosophy  runs,  more 
properly,  perhaps,  and  certainly  more  conveniently,  denomi- 
nated the  four  great  principles  lying  at  the  foundation  of 
all  reflection,  sensualism,  idealism,  skepticism  and  mys- 
ticism, partially  but  very  incompletely  developed.  The 
following  are  their  distribution  among  the  nationalities  of 
Europe : 

The  two  first  mentioned  originated  in  Italy,  and  passed 
thence  into  the  other  countries  of  Europe.^ 

Skepticism  was  wholly  confined  to  France. 

Mysticism,  although  derived  from  an  Italian  source,  yet 
spread  principally  in  Germany,  claiming  stronger  afiinities 
with  the  elements  of  the  Teutonic  mind. 


Modern  Philosophy  —  Bacon, 

Modern  philosophy  commences  with  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. The  period  had  arrived  in  the  history  of  the  world's 
thinking  at  which  reflection  could  commence  upon  system, 
and  by  means  of  successive  schools  and  systems  of  thought, 
carry  out  and  exhibit  consecutively,  those  forms,  phases 
and  processes  which  mark  its  advancement,  and  proclaim 
the  different  stages  in  its  course  of  development.  It  had 
traveled  a  long  way  to  reach  this  period.  To  say  nothing 
of  its  sojourn  among  the  oriental  nations,  it  had  occupied 
the  Greek  mind  for  twelve  centuries,  extending  from 
Thales  and  Pythagoras,  to  the  closing  of  the  schools  at 
Athens,  by  Justinian.  It  had  demanded  of  the  mingled 
races  of  Italy,  the  Teutonic  and  Celtic  combinations  of 


Coudn,  11*  73. 


7 


« 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


271 


France,  and  the  purer  Teutonism  of  Germany  and  Eng- 
land, the  recognition  of  its  claims,  and  the  exercise  of  its 
powers,  for  eight  centuries,  from  the  commencement  of 
the  ninth  to  that  of  the  seventeenth.  It  had  served  a  long 
apprenticeship  with  theology;  and  finally,  its  term  being 
accomplished,  it  had  separated  from  it,  and  proclaimed 
its  independence.  It  had  reproduced  in  the  modern  Euro- 
pean mind,  with  such  modifications  as  the  new  elements 
in  its  composition  demanded,  many  of  the  early  systems 
and  forms  of  thought,  that  had  stirred  the  brains  of  the 
Grecian  philosophers. 

And  now  it  is  about  to  make  its  entrance  upon  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  demands  of  the  age  upon  it 
are  heavy  and  imperative.  Industry  and  enterprise  have 
been  at  work,  opening  up  new  avenues  and  new  worlds  to 
man's  restless  spirit.  Physical  science  is  urging  its  claims 
and  making  its  discoveries.  Galileo  had  pointed  his 
telescope  to  the  stars;  Copernicus  discovered  the  true 
solar  system ;  and  Kepler,  the  laws  of  planetary  motion. 
Problems  of  profound  and  practical  importance  were 
pressing  for  solution.  One  great  question  was  moving  in 
the  minds  of  men,  and  that  related  to  the  origin  and  the 
certainty  of  knowledge.  Investigations  were  also  being 
made  as  to  the  ultimate  grounds  of  moral  right,  and  of 
moral  obligation.  From  this  time  onward,  we  may  expect 
order,  and  system,  and  method  to  preside  over  the  work- 
ings of  reflection. 

Modern  philosophy  has  been  so  rich  a  field  of  investiga- 
tion that  the  laborers  in  it  have  been  numerous.  We  can, 
of  course,  notice  only  those  who  are  the  most  prominent, 
who  are  themselves  the  autliors  of  systems,  or  whose 
labors  have  been  productive  in  the  development  of  par- 
ticular schools. 

Again,  there  are  two  plans  or  principles  upon  which  to 
exhibit  modern  philosophy;  the  one  the  most  usually 
adopted,  is  the  chronological  plan  or  principle,  to  detail 


Mt  M 


UllSTOKr  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


273 


the  schools  and  systems  as  they  succeed  each  other  in  tlie 
order  of  time.  The  other,  not  hitherto  fully  attempted,  is 
to  follow  out  the  schools  and  systems  in  the  natural  order 
of  their  succession,  irrespective  of  time.  To  be  governed 
by  the  idea  of  development.  To  trace  out  a  principle, 
system,  or  school,  including  all  its  principal  developments, 
down  to  the  present  time. 

The  latter  is  alone  calculated  to  render  a  consecutive 
idea  of  the  course  of  philosophy.  It  shows  how  one  system, 
or  school,  occasions  or  produces  another,  and  into  what  the 
more  comprehensive  finally  resolve  themselves.  This 
mode  of  treatment  has  been  only  possible  when  applied  to 
the  modern  philosophy.  IS'either  the  ancient  nor  that  of 
the  middle  ages,  could  be  brought  within  any  such  plan  or 
principle. 

It  will  be  apparent  from  this  exhibition  that  although 
the  Italian  mind  was  greatly  instrumental  in  giving  the 
impulse  to  philosophy  during  the  transition  period  includ- 
ing the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  yet  that  it  has 
done  comparatively  little  in  aiding  to  develop  modern 
philosophy.  The  contributions  to  this  latter  have  come 
almost  wholly  from  the  working  of  the  English,  French, 
Scottish  and  German  mind.  Of  these  the  first  may  be 
termed  empirical  in  its  tendencies;  the  second,  materialis- 
tic; the  third,  skeptical  and  common  sense;  and  the  fourth, 
transcendental.  It  required  each  one  of  these  to  furnish 
its  entire  contribution  in  order  that  the  development  of 
philosophy  might  be  full  and  complete. 

Near  the  commencement  of  the  seventeenth  century 
appear,  the  one  in  England,  the  other  in  France,  two  philo- 
sophies; the  one  empirical,  having  an  objective  stand 
point,  and  its  root  in  sensualism;  the  other,  rationalistic, 
with  a  subjective  stand  point,  and  having  its  root  in  ideal- 
ism. It  is  the  development  of  these  two  philosophies, 
together  with  the  revolts,  reactions,  and  refuges,  which 
their  ultimate  results  have  compelled,  which  we  now  pro- 


ceed to  investigate.     We  shall  do  so  in  the  order  exhibited 
in  the  following  programme: 


1 

Comte 

• 

Positivism  .  '  . 
•        • 

• 

■ 

• 

'  .                   Cousin 

I 

"  .      Eclecticism 

^H                                       Jacob! 
HP                                     Mysticism    ' 

•                       • 
*             *     •                  * 

•                                                 • 
•                   •                                           • 

*                                                            a                                                           * 

•                                         •                                                                                                     ■ 

■                                                                                                                                                                      • 

*  *                                       •                                                                                           '* 

• 

• 

• 

•  • 
•                                                                                                                  * 

Hegel 
.  Schelling 
Fichte 

H                                         Herbart 

m                                                                        m 

m 
• 

•                                                                         * 
• 

d 

^B                                       Bealism 

*                                                      • 
« 
*                                                                                            •                                            * 

«                                              • 

*                                    *                          • 

«                           • 

1 

•                  • 

•                       • 

Eant 

\' 

t 

DeTracy 

Critical  Philosophy 
German  School 

4 

m 

3 

t 
1                   ^ 

Cabanis 

Holbach 

Helvetius 

Condillac 

Darwin 

Reid,  Stewart,  Hamilton 
Common  Sbnsb 
Scottish  School 

Berkley                                Hume 

r 

1 

.  Hartley 

Skepticism                      Skepticism 

i 

^H 

Wolf 

•                                                                                        * 

Leibnitz 

'4 

MONADOLOGY 

■ 

H                              Hobbes 

Locke       Spinoza 

• 

•  Malebranche 

Bacon 

Empirical  Philosophy 

Ot^ective  Stand  Foint 

Sensualism 


Descartes 
Rationalistic  Philosophy 
Subjective  Stand  Point 
Idealism 


The  first  great  root  of  this  philosophical  tree  is  the  em- 
pirical PHILOSOPHY. 

.VI]  35 


274 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


275 


By  empirical  I  mean  experimental,  the  results  of 
reflective  and  active  experience  commenced  and  carried 
out  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  thought. 

By  the  objective  stand  pointy  I  mean  that  this  empiricism 
is  directed  not  to  the  subject  that  thinks,  but  to  the  objects 
of  sense  that  constitute  the  external  universe,  together 
with  the  laws  by  wliich  it  is  governed. 

By  SENSUALISM  is  meant  that  philosophy  that  seeks  and 
finds  in  the  senses  alone  the  sources  of  all  ideas,  and  of 
all  knowledge. 

This  philosophy  in  modern  time  has  its  first  and  great 
representative  in  Bacon. 

Francis  Bacon,  an  English  lawyer  and  lord  chancellor 
under  James  I,  was  born  in  London  in  1561,  and  died  in 

1626. 

Bacon  was  no  metaphysician.  He  originated  no  system 
of  philosophy.  But  he  did  a  method  of  philosophizing. 
To  understand  clearly  the  difi^erence  between  him  and  Des- 
cartes, the  author  of  the  rationalistic  system,  it  may  be 
well  to  recall  to  mind  that  every  course  of  thought,  which 
is  logical  in  itself,  is  determined  by  two  points,  viz :  that 
from  which  it  proceeds,  and  that  to  which  it  tends ;  the  first 
being  the  starting  point,  the  last  the  goal.  The  first  marks 
the  rationalistic,  the  last  the  sensuaUstic  philosophy.  In 
the  first,  thought,  mind,  constitutes  the  premiss,  and  then 
the  course  of  ideas  is  but  a  series  of  conclusions.  In  the 
second,  thought  is  the  goal,  and  with  respect  to  that  all 
the  premises  are  framed. 

The  method  of  each  is  diflferent.  In  the  first,  the 
guiding  point  is  an  axiom,  or  fundamental  proposition, 
in  the  second,  a  problem.  The  axiom  has  deductions; 
the  problem  solutions.^  The  first  is  the  synthetic,  the 
second,  the  analvtic  method.  Thus  is  indicated  the 
mental  working  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  two 
philosophies. 


A 


That  of  Bacon  was  the  analytic.  He  first  apprehended 
the  problem.  The  goal  was  in  the  distance.  He  busied 
himself  principally  about  the  means  of  solution.  The  great 
object  or  goal  of  all  his  wishes  and  aspirations  was,  so  to 
extend  the  intellectual  world  that  it  may  be  able  to  com- 
prehend the  material,  such  as  the  latter  had  become  in  his 
day.^  In  his  view,  the  dominion  of  man  over  things  was 
the  highest  end  the  human  mind  could  propose  to  itself. 
Hence  the  ultimate  purpose  of  his  philosophy  was  the 
foundation  and  augmentation  of  human  dominion,  and  to 
his  mind  the  nearest  means  to  that  end  are  supplied  by 
that  kind  of  culture  which  converts  physical  forces  into 
instruments  fitted  for  man.  And  it  was  by  opening  the 
widest  prospects  into  the  realm  of  science,  and  by  indicat- 
ing goals  and  setting  up  problems  in  every  direction,  that 
he  proposed,  not  to  unfold  a  system,  but  to  set  free  a  spirit 
of  investigation,  invention,  and  discovery,  which,  under 
the  processes  he  indicated,  might  pursue  its  course  without 
end  or  limit.^ 

Bacon  has  incorporated  much  of  his  philosophy  in  the 
six  following  aphorisms : 

1.  Man,  the  minister  and  interpreter  of  nature,  can  act 
and  understand  in  as  far  as  he  has,  either  in  fact  or  in 
thought,  observed  the  order  of  nature ;  no  more  he  can 
neither  know  nor  do. 

2.  The  real  cause  and  root  of  almost  all  the  evils  in  sci- 
ence is  this:  that,  falsely  magnifying  and  extolling  the 
powers  of  the  mind,  we  seek  not  its  real  helps. 

3.  There  are  two  ways  of  searching  after  and  disco- 
vering truth  :  the  one,  from  sense  and  particulars,  rises 
directly  to  the  most  general  axioms,  and  resting  upon 
those  principles,  and  their  unshaken  truth,  finds  out 
intermediate  axioms,  and  this  is  the  method  in  use:  but 
the  other  raises  axioms  from  sense  and  particulars  by 
a  continual  and  gradual  ascent,  till  at  last  it  arrives  at 


i 


' Fischer,  m,  40,  it- 


'Fise7((r,m.    V(?n»,  63. 


276 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


277 


the   most  general   axioms,  which   is   the  true   way,   hut 
hitherto  untried. 

4.  The  understanding,  when  left  to  itself,  takes  the  first 
of  these  ways ;  for  the  mind  delights  in  springing  up  to 
the  most  general  axioms,  that  it  may  find  rest ;  but  after 
a  short  stay  there,  it  disdains  experience,  and  these  mis- 
chiefs are  at  length  increased  by  logic,  for  the  ostentation 
of  disputes. 

5.  The  natural  human  reasoning  we,  for  the  sake  of 
clearness,  call  the  anticipation  of  nature,  as  being  a  rash 
and  hasty  thing ;  and  the  reason  duly  exercised  upon  objects 
we  call  the  interpretation  of  nature. 

6.  It  is  false  to  assert  that  human  sense  is  the  measure  of 
things,  since  all  perceptions,  both  of  sense  and  mind,  are  with 
relation  to  man,  and  not  with  relation  to  the  universe ;  but 
the  human  understanding  is  like  an  unequal  mirror  to  the 
rays  of  things,  which,  mixing  its  own  nature  with  the  nature 
of  things,  distorts  and  perverts  them. 

In  addition,  he  says,  relating  to  the  nature  and  character 
of  the  commencement  of  his  method :  "  The  only  remain- 
ing hope  and  salvation  is  to  begin  over  again  the  whole 
task  of  the  mind  so  that  from  the  very  first,  the  mind  may 
not  be  trusted  to  itself,  but  continually  directed." 

Thus  a  wise  and  judicious  skepticism  lay  at  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Baconian  philosophy,  purifying,  supporting, 
and  sustaining  it.  And  hereafter  we  shall  see  the  same 
skepticism  in  its  abuse,  in  the  hands  of  Berkley,  attacking 
and    destroying    that   external   nature   which  lay  at  its 

foundation. 

In  the  exercise  of  this  skepticism,  Bacon's  first  object  in 
his  Novum  Organum  was  to  point  out  the  causes  that  had 
retarded  and  vitiated  science.  These  he  terms  idols,  and 
he  enumerates  four  kinds,  viz : 

Idols  of  the  tribe. 

Idols  of  the  den. 

Idols  of  the  forum. 

Idols  of  the  theatre. 


«* 

T 


Idols  of  the  tribe  are  those  common  to  all  men.  The 
propensity  prompting  to  the  spirit  of  system,  which 
seeks  to  find  a  greater  degree  of  order,  simplicity,  and 
regularity  than  is  actually  indicated  by  observation,  is  an 
illustration. 

Idols  of  the  den  spring  from  the  peculiar  character  of 
the  individual.  Some  men,  for  instance,  are  best  adapted 
to  mark  the  differences  of  things,  others  to  catch  at  re- 
semblances. 

Idols  of  the  forum  are  those  which  arise  out  of  the  inter- 
course of  society,  and  from  the  use  of  language.  Men 
believe  that  their  thoughts  govern  their  words.  But  it 
also  happens  that  their  words  frequently  govern  their 
thoughts. 

Idols  of  the  theatre  are  the  deceptions  which  have  arisen 
from  the  dogmas  of  different  schools.  These,  unlike  the 
others,  are  of  labored  acquisition.  Thus  these  different 
idols  are  the  "peculiarities  of  human  nature  and  of  indi- 
viduals, the  conventionalities  of  social  intercourse,  and 
the  authorities  confirmed  by  history.*' 

The  great  and  only  object  of  the  Baconian  philosophy 
was  fruit,  productive  results.  Hence  Bacon  confined 
himself  mainly  to  the  realm  of  physics.  His  philosophy 
had  its  adaptations  accordingly.  Hence  he  rejected  all 
consideration  of  final  causes  as  appertaining  to  metaphysics, 
and  as  belonging  more  to  the  nature  of  man  than  to  that 
of  the  universe.  They  had  their  origin  in  reasoning,  and 
not  in  experience.  lie,  therefore,  confined  himself  to  efli- 
cient,  physical  causes. 

The  first  work  of  experience  is  the  observation  and 
collection  of  facts  and  phenomena,  together  with  all  their 
modifications  and  varieties.  These  are  the  capital  of 
science,  the  description  of  nature,  natural  history. 

The  three  main  problems  proposed  by  Bacon  were :  1. 
By  what  means  does  natural  history  become  natural 
science  ?  2.  By  what  means  does  the  description  of  nature 
become  the  interpretation  of  nature?     3.  In  more  general 


k 


.1 


278 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


'^ 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


279 


'4  1 


1^ 


terais,  by  what  means  does  ordinary  experience  become 
scientific  experience  ? 

Experience  proceeds  from  the  facts  of  nature,  and 
directs  itself  to  their  causes.  "  To  know  truly,"  says 
Bacon,  "  is  to  know  from  causes."  Having  thus  got  the 
capital,  the  description,  the  natural  history,  the  next 
question  is  now  to  find  the  essential  conditions.  And 
this  question  is  answered  by  setting  aside  whatever  is 
nonessential,  or  contingent.  The  residue  will  consist 
of  those  which  are  essential  and  -true.  The  discovery 
of  contingencies,  and  the  separation  of  them  from  the 
other  data,  is  one  of  the  great  purposes  and  aims  of  the 
Baconian  experience. 

The  mode  of  doing  this  is  by  a  comparison  of  a  number 
of  similar  instances.  This  may  be  two- fold  :  1.  A  com- 
parison of  several  instances  in  which  the  same  phenomena 
occurs  under  various  conditions.  2.  With  these  instances 
compare  others,  where,  under  similar  conditions,  the  same 
phenomenon  does  not  occur.  "Thus,  by  accurate  and 
frequent  comparison,  nonessential  conditions  are  detected, 
and  by  their  exclusion,  the  essential  conditions  are  retained. 
Thus  experience  proceeds  from  fact  to  fact,  till  it  arrives 
at  a  law.  It  confirms  fact  by  experiment ;  discovers,  by  a 
fitting  comparison  of  facts,  the  universal  law,  principle,  or 
axiom,  by  which  the  operation  of  nature  is  guided.  Thus, 
experience  ascends  from  the  experiment  to  the  axiom.  This 
is  the  method  of  induction." 

Before  a  conclusion  can  be  safely  arrived  at  by  expe- 
rience it  must  be  rendered  clear  that  there  are  no  negative 
instances.  To  these.  Bacon  attaches  the  highest  import- 
ance. They  stand  as  a  security  against  too  credulous 
reliance  on  individual  experience.  They  are  with  him  the 
criterion  of  empirical  truth.  Their  occurrence  destroys 
any  afiirmative  conclusion.  With  him,  it  is  common  ex- 
perience that  simply  collects ;  but  it  is  critical  experience 
that  collects  by  sifting,  and  is  thus  both  experimental  and 
intellectual,  uniting  reason  with  experience. 


One  great  problem  proposed  by  Bacon  to  his  age  was 
the  subjection  of  science  to  the  spirit  of  invention,  and  the 
liberation  of  this  spirit  from  the  chance  by  which  human 
inventions  had  previously  been  governed.^  Chance  was  to 
give  place  to  design.  Invention  is  the  parent  of  discovery, 
and  tliat  was  the  great  demand  of  the  Baconian  age. 

Another  problem  that  presented  itself  to  the  mind  of 
Bacon  was :  How  can  knowledge  attained  by  the  way  of 
experience,  become  invention  ?  Answer.  By  the  applica- 
tion of  the  discovered  laws.  If  all  the  forces  by  which 
lightning  is  guided  and  attracted  are  known,  the  invention 
of  the  lightning  rod  becomes  an  easy  matter. 

Thus  the  Baconian  induction  proceeds  from  experiment 
to  axiom.  But  that,  once  attained,  becomes  a  subject 
matter  upon  which  deduction  acts,  taking  the  inverse 
course,  and  proceeding  from  axiom  to  experiment.  The 
first  is  the  method  of  interpretation,  the  last  that  of  appli- 
cation. The  first  end  with  the  discovery  of  a  law,  the  last 
with  an  invention. 

There  occurs  this  difficulty  with  the  Baconian  method. 
A  single  negative  instance,  we  have  seen,  destroys  a  con- 
clusion. Certainty,  therefore,  requires  the  impossibility  of 
a  negative  instance,  the  affirmative  proof  that  there  are  none. 
This  clearly  can  never  be  furnished  by  experience,  for 
"  nature  is  richer  than  experience."  This  brings  us  to  the 
prerogative  instances  of  Bacon.  These  are  certain  cases, 
or  instances,  one  of  which  is  equal  in  value  to  a  series  of 
others.  They  are  pregnant  instances,  from  which  much 
may  be  inferred  by  an  accelerated  induction,  by  a  rapid 
separation  of  the  contingent  from  the  necessary.  It  i& 
where  a  single  observation  may  save  many  others.  Thus, 
for  instance,  if  the  question  is  of  specific  gravity,  the  mere 
fact  that  quicksilver  is  so  much  heavier  than  gold,  is 
sufficient  to  show  that  the  specific  gravity  of  a  body  is 
regulated  by  its  mass,  and  not  by  the  cohesion  of  its 


\\ 


'  Fmlier,  47. 


280 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


281 


parts.     Bacon  has  enumerated  twenty-seven  of  these  pre- 
rogative instances. 

Another  instance  made  use  of  by  Bacon  is  analogy. 
This  assumes  the  unity,  the  entirety,  of  nature,  a  general- 
ization gathered  from  a  constantly  ascending  induction. 
Granting  the  truth  of  this  general  fact,  analogies  are  beau- 
tifully expressed  as  the  "  first  chords,  that  we  hear  of 
harmony  of  the  universe."  "  They  are,"  says  Bacon,  "  the 
first  and  truest  steps  towards  the  union  of  nature.  They 
do  not  at  once  establish  an  axiom,  but  only  indicate  and 
observe  a  certain  conformity  of  bodies  to  each  other.  But 
although  they  do  not  conduce  much  to  the  discovery  of 
general  laws,  which  are  called  by  Bacon  forms,  they  are, 
nevertheless,  of  great  service  in  disclosing  the  fabrication 
of  parts  of  the  universe,  and  practice  a  sort  of  anatomy 
upon  its  members.  Thence  they  sometimes  lead  us,  as  if 
by  hand,  to  sublime  and  noble  axioms,  especially  those  that 
relate  to  the  configuration  of  the  world  rather  than  to 
simple  natures  and  forms." 

Thus  it  was  by  the  aid  of  analogy  that  induction  itself 
was  invoked  to  bring  unity  into  natural  science,  and  by 
such  means  to  discover  that  spiritual  connection  of  things 
that  can  never  be  apprehended  through  a  mere  description 
of  parts,  for  it  is  by  analogy  that  nature  can  be  united, 
and  the  foundations  of  science  laid.^ 

But  no  other  than  essential  resemblances  should  be  ad- 
mitted, and  hence  Bacon  insists  that  in  all  these  a  severe 
and  rigid  caution  be  observed,  and  none  others  accepted 
as  similar  and  proportionate  instances  except  those  that 
denote  natural  resemblances,  that  is,  real  and  substantial, 
not  merely  casual  and  superficial. 

The  analogies  suggested  by  Bacon  are  far-seeing  and 
comprehensive,  stretching  through  organic  and  inorganic 
nature.  The  idea  of  an  analogy  pervading  all  natural 
phenomena  is  clearly  before  his  mind,  and  thus  he  sought 


'  Fischer  A'^0. 


what  the  common  forms  of  induction  could  not  alone  have 
discovered,  the  unity  of  nature  as  manifested  in  the  aflSnity 
of  all  things. 

Such  was  the  method  of  Bacon,  and  the  result  of  his 
philosophy  and  the  logical  order  of  its  ideas  is  thus  admira- 
bly and  comprehensively  stated  by  Fischer :  ^ 

"  1.  Science  sViould  serve  man  by  being  useful  to  him. 
Its  use  consists  in  inventions;  the  object  of  which  is  the 
dominion  of  the  human  race. 

"  2.  Science  can  only  become  inventive  through  an  exact 
knowledge  of  things,  and  this  is  only  to  be  obtained  by 
an  interpretation  of  nature. 

"  3.  A  correct  interpretation  of  nature  is  only  possible 
through  pure  and  methodical  experience.  Experience  is 
pure  when  it  does  not  judge  according  to  idols  and  huraau 
analogies,  when  it  does  not  anthropomorphize  things,  when 
it  is  mere  experimentalizing  perception.  Experience  is 
methodical  as  true  induction.  Induction  is  true  when,  by 
an  accurate  and  critical  comparison,  it  infers  laws  from  a 
number  of  particular  instances.  Comparison  is  critical 
when  it  opposes  negative  to  positive  instances.  Moreover, 
the  process  of  inductive  reasoning  is  accelerated  by  the 
investigation  of  prerogative  instances.  Experience,  thus 
disciplined,  avoids  from  first  to  last  all  uncertain  and  pre- 
mature hypotheses." 

The  merit  of  Bacon  consists  not  alone  in  being  the 
founder  of  methods,  in  simply  pointing  out  the  way.  He 
was  also  the  expositor  of  his  methods.  He  traveled  along 
the  way  he  had  pointed  out  so  far  as  to  initiate  others,  and 
to  enable  them  to  make  a  further  progress. 

The  labors  of  Bacon  were  by  no  means  limited  to  the 
suggestion  and  exposition  of  his  method.  He  also  at- 
tempted an  arrangement  and  classification  of  all  the  kinds, 
varieties,  and  departments  of  knowledge.  The  principle 
lying  at  the  foundation  of  his  division  was  psychological. 


% 


'  Fischer,  140. 
VI] 


36 


mtm 


^oA 


HISTOKY  OB^  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


2g3 


He  would  divide  the  total  intellectual  image  of  the  world 
into  so  many  parts  as  there  were  faculties  in  the  human 
mind  to  copy  and  reproduce  it.*  These  faculties  were 
memory,  imagination,  and  reason.  There  must,  therefore, 
be  a  copy  of  the  world  referable  to  memory,  or  experience ; 
another  to  imagination,  and  another  to  reason.  The 
purely  empirical,  or  experience  copy,  is  history ;  the  ima- 
ginaiy,  poetry;  the  rational,  science. 

All  the  possible  objects  of  human  knowledge  are  God,^ 
nature,  and  our  internal  essence.  Of  these,  our  knowledge 
of  nature  is  immediate,  that  of  God  is  derived  through 
nature,  and  that  of  ourselves  through  reflection.  The  great 
fundamental  thought  that  appears  to  have  lain  at  tlie 
foundation  of  his  philosophy,  and  that  impelled  him  to 
seek  analogies  everywhere  was,  that  the  aggregate  of 
things,  from  the  humblest  of  creatures  to  the  deity  himself 
forms  a  regular  ascending  scale.^ 

The  true  distinction  between  physics  and  metaphysics, 
he  held  to  be,  that  the  first  was  employed  to  investigate 
the  material  of  things,  and  their  efiicient  forces ;  *  the 
latter,  the  forms  of  things  and  their  fitness  to  an  end. 
Thus,  they  contemplate  different  sides  of  the  same  nature ; 
the  former,  in  matter  and  force ;  the  latter,  form  and  pur- 
pose. 

Bacon  often  speaks  of  forms,  and  by  these  he  means 
permanent  causes.  Those  being  eflScient,  he  elevates  into 
the  form  of  universality.  That,  for  instance,  which,  in 
every  case,  produces  heat,  is  called  by  him,  the  form  of 
heat.  Thus,  his  forms  are  the  last  true  differences  to 
which  the  conditions  of  natural  phenomena  are  reduci- 
ble ;  the  factors  absolutely  necessary  for  the  qualities  of 
bodies. 

To  physics.  Bacon  assigns  efiicient  causes ;  to  metaphy- 
sics, final.*  The  former  show  a  nature  conformed  to  laws ; 
the  latter,  to  ends.     These,  he  insists,  should   never  be 


*J 


- 


minded  tos^ether.  "  The  excursions,"  he  remarks,  "  of 
final  causes  into  the  limits  of  physical  causes,  hath  bred  a 
vastness  and  solitude  in  that  track."  He  would  purity 
physics,  by  banishing  final  causes  to  the  region  of  meta- 
physics. 

The  soul  was  supposed  by  Bacon  to  be  a  corporeal  sub- 
stance, having  its  local  seat  in  the  brain,  and  invisible,  on 
account  of  its  subtilty.*  But  the  mind,  he  declared  in- 
comprehensible, transferring  the  idea  of  it  from  the  scien- 
tific sphere  into  that  of  religion.  Thus,  referring  the  soul 
to  the  body,  and  the  mind  to  the  deity,  he  fell  necessarily 
into  a  dualism,  which,  once  forced  upon  the  mind,  is  so 
difficult  to  get  rid  of. 

Bacon  had  admitted,  what  must  be  obvious  to  every 
inquirer,  that  his  philosophy  was  incapable  of  explaining 
the  mind.^  He  had,  therefore,  but  one  of  two  possible 
courses  before  him,  viz:  to  refer  it  to  the  deity,  and  thus 
create  a  dualism,  without  any  possible  mode  of  connecting 
tho  two  together;  or  to  declare  it  a  corporeal  substance, 
and  thus  merge  it  all  in  materialism.  The  former  was 
preferred  by  Bacon  ;  the  latter,  we  shall  see,  by  some  of 
those  who  succeeded  and  more  fully  developed  his  philo- 
sophy in  some  of  its  phases. 

Bacon  made  metaphysics  the  stepping  stone  to  natural 
theology ;  for  he  assigned  final  causes  to  metaphysics,  and 
the  perception  of  these  in  nature  shows  us  a  world  regu- 
lated for  certain  ends,  and  such  a  world  cannot  be  conceived 
without  a  regulating  intelligence.  Natural  theology,  in  his 
view,  is  the  image  of  the  deity  as  the  creative  regulator  of 
the  world,  and  faith  in  such  a  deity  is  a  scientific  necessi^. 

But  a  deity  thus  proclaimed  by  the  course  of  nature 
must  necessarily  be  limited  by  it,  and  must,  therefore, 
belong  to  natural  philosophy.  It  is  clear  that  as  the 
course  of  nature  only  is  here  taken,  that  can  reveal  no- 
thing of  the  supernatural  essence  of  the  deity,  or  of  his 


II 


' Fischer,  23i.    Udem,2AQ.    '/elm,  250.    'Idem,  25^.    'Idem,  262. 


'Fischer,  211.    Udim,270. 


■»•• 


284 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


decrees  for  the  benefit  of  man.  As  the  kingdom  of  grace, 
the  realm  of  revealed  religion  lies  out  of  nature  ;  it  is 
obvious  there  can  be  no  pathway  leading  from  one  to  the 
other;  and  hence  as  there  was  between  mind  and  body, 
80  also  between  deity  and  the  world  there  was,  according 
to  Bacon,  a  necessary  dualism. 

The  duaUsm  thus  forced  upon  the  Baconian  philosophy 
excludes  all  intercommunication  and  reciprocal  influence 
between  religion  and  philosophy.  A  blind  unquestioning 
faith  belongs  to  the  one;  reason  with  all  its  processes  to 
the  other.  Religious  faith  stands  beyond  science,  rests 
upon  a  basis  totally  different,  must  be  unconditional,  with- 
out rational  ground,  or  logical  aid,  and  hence  totally  a 
blind  faith. 

Thus  the  Baconian  philosophy  was  as  little  capable  of 
explaining  religion  as  the  human  mind.  Eeligion  is  the 
connection  between  the  divine  and  the  human  mind. 
For  the  apprehension  of  this  connection  it  possessed  neither 
the  comprehension  nor  the  required  organs.  If  both  deity 
and  mind  were  inexplicable  upon  its  principles,  how  could 
it  understand  the  relation  between  them.  All  its  knowledge 
came  through  the  medium  of  experimentalizing  experience, 
and  how  could  that  possibly  fathom  either  the  human  or 
divine  mind.  True  to  itself,  it  admitted,  as  it  could  not  do 
otherwise,  that  the  mind,  God  and  religion,  were  to  it 
unfathomable  objects.  It  had,  therefore,  no  choice  but 
either  to  reject  or  acknowledge,  and  in  either  case  uncon- 
ditionally, and  without  a  reason.  Bacon's  rejection  of  all 
final  causes  in  the  domain  of  physics  would  naturally  have 
led  to  its  rejection,  although  it  may  well  'be  doubted  whether 
a  more  enlarged  and  liberalized  empiricism  would  not  be 
able  to  discover  and  even  demonstrate  ends  in  the  creation, 
final  purposes  to  which  all  the  physical  arrangements  were 
made  subservient. 

It  will  be  readily  seen,  therefore,  that  the  Baconian 
philosophy  carried  along  with  it  its  own  recommendution 
and  condemnation.     It  was  emphatically  tbe  philosophy  de- 


n 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


285 


manded  by  its  age.  The  yearning  of  human  thought  was 
then  towards  discovery  ;  development  of  nature's  physical 
resources  through  the  agency  of  mind.  Into  the  midst  of 
it  came  the  method  of  Bacon,  with  its  levers  and  screws, 
and  various  modes  of  experimentalizing  experience, having 
one  persistent  aim,  the  extorting  from  nature  the  secrets 
of  her  operations,  and  through  them  the  controlling  of 
herself 

It  was  eminently  successful.  It  gave  to  physical  sci- 
ence a  new  impulse.  It  ofi:ered  to  the  pent-up  faculties 
of  mind  a  new  field  of  effort,  a  new  course  and  direction 
in  which  to  expend  their  energies.  The  offer  was  gladly 
accepted.  Harvey  discovered  the  circulation  of  the  blood, 
and  Newton  the  laws  of  gravitation.  In  process  of  time 
steam  opened  up  its  resources,  and  electricity  became  a 
willing  worker  in  the  affairs  of  men.  It  would  not  per- 
haps be  too  much  to  say  that  the  mighty  advancements  of 
physical  science;  the  profound  knowledge  of  nature's  pro- 
cesses, which  the  last  two  centuries  have  yielded  up ;  the 
almost  unquestioned  command  attained  by  man  over  the 
forces  of  nature,  and  by  Avhich  he  has  been  enabled  so 
rapidly  and  thoroughly  to  develop  her  physical  resources; 
are  all  mainly  owing  to  the  use  and  successful  employment 
of  the  Baconian  methods  of  philosophy.  The  progress  of 
this  philosophy  was  by  successive  generalizations,  and 
newly  discovered  tacts  and  phenomena.  As  soon  as  a 
sufficient  number  of  the  latter  came  to  be  known,  a  gene- 
ralization broad  enough  to  cover  them  was  sought  out  and 
deemed  satisfactory.  In  the  progress  of  knowledge,  other 
facts  and  phenomena  would  naturally  present  themselves, 
which  not  being  at  the  time  known,  the  preceding  general- 
izations would  be  inadequate  to  explain.  This  would 
demand  wider  generalizations.  These,  in  their  turn,  would 
be  furnished,  and  thus  all  obstacles  being  cleared  away, 
another  advance  onward  would  be  made  until  another 
barrier  would  be  reached,  and  other  new  and  unexplained 
facts   and    phenomena   would    telegraph   back,    requiring 


// 


.!: 


286 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


generalizations  still  more  comprebensive  and  sweeping  for 
their  solution.  And  thus  in  successive  oscillations  between 
the  two  would  swing  the  mighty  pendulum  that  marks 
out  the  mind's  progress  on  the  dial  plate  of  centuries. 

At  the  same  time  it  must  now  be  admitted  that  this 
philosophy  in  its  principle  and  scope  was  narrow,  limited, 
partial,  unilateral-  It  ignored  mind,  and  was  confined  to 
matter.  It  groveled,  and  upon  its  own  principles,  as  ex- 
pounded by  Bacon,  forever  must,  within  the  realm  of 
physics.  But  its  denial  of  final  causes,  as  embraced  within 
the  sphere  of  its  method,  it  efiectually  cut  off  all  avenue  to 
any  other  realm.  To  man,  as  a  being  of  this  world,  as 
the  subject  merely  of  pliysical  enjoyments,  as  having  only 
to  do  with  the  blind  forces  of  nature,  it  offered  all  that  was 
desirable.  But  to  man  who  could  entertain  and  busy 
himself  with  the  problems  of  life  and  death  and  destiny, 
whose  thoughts  would  seek  to  apprehend  God  and  his 
eternity,  who  felt  that  his  spiritual  nature  had  relations 
reaching  far  beyond  the  domain  of  physical  science,  it 
could  offer  nothing. 

But  while  thus  sensible  of  its  deficiencies,  we  should 
recognize  the  truth,  that  God  has  all  time  at  his  disposal ; 
that  mind  cannot  at  once  sound  all  the  deptlis  of  its  reflec- 
tion ;  that  these  depths  must  be  opened  up  successively ; 
and  that  every  great  system  of  thought  should  appear 
partial,  limited,  and  conditioned,  in  order  that  all  its 
resources,  and  contained  treasures,  may  be  all  brought  out 
and  fully  developed. 

The  Baconian  philosophy  only  commences  with  Bacon. 
Although  so  limited  in  its  principle  and  scope,  yet  his 
genius  could  develop  but  a  single  phase  of  it.  That  phase 
related  to  his  method.  That  has  stood,  and  will  continue 
to,  the  test  of  ages.  But  there  lay  within  the  principle  he 
assumed,  as  the  basis  of  his  method,  germs  of  thought, 
ideas,  doctrinal  results  and  consequences,  that  he  probably 
never  dreamed  of.  It  is  thus  demonstrated,  that  "  every 
body  is  wiser  tlian  any  body,"  and  that  .the  race  carries 


-t- 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPliy. 


287 


on  from  age  to  age,  its  successive  stages  of  thinking,  until 
it  completes  in  the  end,  its  great  philosophical  systems. 

The  sensualistic  philosophy,  having  established  through 
Bacon,  its  methods,  next  passes  through  the  alembics  of 
Hobbes  and  Locke,  developing  through  the  first  its  morals 
and  politics;  and  through  the  latter,  its  metaphysics.  Not 
yet  by  any  means  exhausted,  it  then  takes  two  directions, 
the  one  running  off'  through  Hartley,  Darwin,  Condillac, 
and  the  other  French  philosophers,  into  utter  hopeless  mate- 
rialism ;  the  other,  through  Berkley,  into  the  annihilation 
of  all  sensuous  objects,  the  material  world,  through  skep- 
ticism. !N'ot  yet  having  exhausted  all  its  resources,  we 
shall  find  it  again  reappearing,  near  the  middle  of  the 
nineteenth  centuy,  under  a  different  garb,  and  a  different 
name,  viz :  the  positivism  of  Auguste  Comte. 

Bcsulis  of  the  Baconian  Philosophy — Hobbes,  Locke. 

Thomas  Ilobbes,  the  contemporary  and  friend  of  Bacon, 
was  born  at  Malmesbury,  England,  in  1588,  and  died  in 
1679.  Hobbes  was  a  clear,  strong  writer.  His  general 
doctrine  may  be  summed  up  as  that  of  social  materialism. 

Bacon  had  declared  physics  the  mother  of  the  sciences. 
On  this  foundation  not  only  were  astronomy,  optics, 
mechanics,  etc.,  to  be  renovated,  but  also  morals,  politics 
and  logic.  But  Bacon  himself  loft  morals  undeveloped,  and 
politics  untouched.     Hence  the  necessity  of  Hobbes. 

The  moral  world  was  to  be  explained  on  naturalistic 
principles,  that  is,^  the  natural  state  of  man  being  ascer- 
tained, how  does  the  moral  order  of  things  result  from  it? 
This  is  the  problem  for  Hobbes  to  solve  in  the  spirit  of  the 
Baconian  philosophy. 

The  natural  state  of  man,  according  to  Hobbes,  is  a  war 
of  all  against  all,  because  the  human  forces,  by  their  very 
nature,  are  opposed  in  hostility  to  each  other.     This  war 


I 


*  Fischer,  417. 


SI 


288 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


perils  the  safety  of  all,  and  hence  contravenes  that  law  of 
nature  by  which  every  individual  seeks  safety,  life,  and  en- 
joyment. On  the  strength  of  this  law  peace  results,  but  it 
results  from  a  contract,  out  of  which  the  state  is  derived. 
All  agree  to  abandon  their  natural  rights,  or  rather  to 
transfer  them  to  a  third  party,  the  state.  The  contract  is 
formed  by  this  reciprocal  transfer  of  rights,  and  constitutes 
the  essence  of  the  state  in  human  society.  The  state  thus 
originates  from  the  law  of  necessity,  and  is  armed  with  all 
the  rights  and  powers  of  the  individual  members  who 
compose  it.  All  the  conditions  required  are  natural  laws, 
the  sum  total  of  which  constitutes,  according  to  Ilobbes,  the 
only  real  morality.^ 

The  contract  once  made  is  irrevocable.  It  holds  the 
same  position  in  politics  that  an  axiom  does  in  science. 
The  state  wields  absolute  sway  ;  as  it  unites  all  rights  and 
powers  within  itself.  Its  power  is  sole,  unlimited,  indivisi- 
ble. It  rules  alone,  and  is  alone  free.  In  its  presence  all 
are  subjects,  who  are  bound  to  obey.     It  is  and  must  be, 

absolute. 

This  power  may  be  lodged  with  one  person  or  many. 
The  form  may  be  monarchical,  aristocratic,  or  democratic, 
but  the  power  of  the  state  must,  in  all  cases,  be  absolute 
and  indivisible.  As  a  means  of  conducing  to  this,  the  legis- 
lative must  not  be  separated  from  the  governing  power, 
nor  the  judicial  from  the  other  two.  All  the  powers  are 
united  in  a  single  hand,  and  are  best  and  most  naturally 
united  in  a  single  person.  An  absolute  monarchy  is  thus 
the  most  perfect  form  of  government.  The  king  is  the 
embodied  law,  and  no  moral  conscience  or  religious  free- 
dom are  to  prevail  against  him.  The  state  he  calls  the 
"  mortal  God,"  the  "  great  leviathan "  which  recklessly 
swallows  up  individuals. 

Eeligion  and  morality,  according  to  Ilobbes,  are  only 
rendered  possible  through  the  state,  for  it  is  by  the  state 


Fischer,  426. 


'f 


i 


V 


<fr 


./ 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


289 


that  they  are  first  made.  Religious  faith  is  nothing  more 
than  political  obedience,  unconditional,  cold  and  external. 
It  is  a  state  edict,  a  royal  command. 

He  resolves  all  good  and  evil  into  selfishness.  The  ob- 
ject of  a  selfish  desire  is,  according  to  Ilobbes,  termed 
good;  that  of  a  selfish  aversion,  bad.  We  seek  what  is 
useful  and  avoid  what  is  hurtful  to  ourselves.  Private 
interest  is  the  sole  arbiter  as  to  what  is  good,  and  what  is 
bad.  l!Tothing  is  in  itself  good  or  bad,  beautiful  or  ugly. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  natural  morality. 

The  state,  by  its  laws,  declares  what  is  good  and  bad  for 
all.^  It  marks  the  distinctions  between  actions  that  are 
just  and  those  that  are  unjust.  It  also  determines  what  are 
to  be  the  objects  of  belief,  what  deity  is  to  be  worshiped 
and  in  what  form.  Thus  the  law  of  the  state  really  con- 
stitutes both  morality  and  religion.  "  The  public  law," 
says  Hobbes,  "  is  the  citizen's  only  conscience." 

All  generic  ideas,  according  to  him,  are  mere  names  and 
words,  and  these  are  nothing  but  conventional  expedients 
for  mutual  intercourse.  "  Words,"  says  he, "  are  wise  men's 
counters.^  They  do  but  reckon  by  them.  But  they  are 
the  money  of  fools,  that  value  them  by  the  authority  of  an 
Aristotle,  a  Cicero,  or  a  Thomas  Aquinas." 

Ilobbes  also  inquired  into  the  origin  of  our  knowledge, 
and  here  he  takes  the  same  instrument  and  applies  it  to  the 
limitation  of  knowledge,  which  was  applied  by  Bacon  to 
that  of  science,  viz  :  experience.  Here  he  is  the  precursor 
of  materialism. 

"Concerning  thoughts  of  man,"  says  Hobbes,  "I  will 
consider  them  first  singly,  and  afterwards  in  a  train  or 
dependence  upon  one  another.  Singly  they  are  every  one 
a  representation  or  appearance  of  some  quality  or  accident 
of  a  body  without  us,  which  is  commonly  called  an  object, 
which  object  worketh  on  the  eyes,  ears,  and  other  parts 


'  Fischer,  423.    ^  Idem,  411. 
VI]  37 


K 


290 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


of  a  man's  body,  and  by  diversity  of  working,  produceth 
diversity  of  appearance.  The  original  of  them  all  is  that 
which  we  call  sense,  for  there  is  no  conception  in  a  man's 
mind  which  hath  not  at  first,  totally  or  by  parts,  been  be- 
gotten upon  the  organs  of  sense.  The  rest  are  derived 
from  that  original." 

And  again,  "when  a  man  thinketh  on  anything  whatso- 
ever, bis  next  thought  after  that  is  not  altogether  so  casual 
as  it  seems  to  be.^    Not  every  thought  to  every  thought 
succeeds  indififerently.     But  as  we  have  no  imagination 
whereof  we  have  not  formerly  had  sense  in  whole  or  in  parts, 
so  we  have  no  transition  from  one  imagination  to  another, 
whereof  we   never  bad   the    like   before   in    our  senses. 
Tbe  reason  whereof  is  this:  all  fancies,  i.  e.,  images,  are 
motions  within  us,  relics  of  those  made  in  sense  ;  and  those 
motions  that  immediately  succeed  one  another  in  the  sense, 
continue  also  together  after  the  sense;  inasmuch  as  the 
former  coming  again  to  take  place  and  be  predominant, 
the  latter  foUoweth  by  coherence  of  the  matter  moved,  in 
such  manner  as  water  upon  a  plain  table  is  drawn,  which 
way  any  one  part  of  it  is  guided  by  the  finger.     This  train 
of  thoughts,  or  mental  discourse,  is  of  two  sorts.     The  first 
is  unguided,  without  design,  and  inconstant,  wherein  there 
is  no  passionate  thought  to  govern  and  direct  those  that 
follow  to  itself,  as  the  end  and  scope  of  some  desire  or  other 
passion ;  in  which  case  the  thoughts  are  said  to  wander  and 
seem  impertinent  one  to  another  as  in  a  dream.     Such  are 
commonly  the  thoughts  of  men  that  are  not  only  without 
company,  but  also  without  care  of  anything ;  though  even 
then  their  thoughts  are  as  busy  as  at  other  times,  but  with- 
out harmony ;  as  the  sound  which  a  lute  out  of  tune  would 
yield  to  any  man ;  or  in  tune  to  one  that  could  not  play. 
And  yet  in  this  wild  ranging  of  the  mind,  a  man  may  oft- 
times  perceive  the  way  of  it,  and  the  dependence  of  one 
thought  upon  another." 


Lewes,  422. 


...k 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


291 


Hobbes  makes  the  sole  object  of  philosophy  to  be  the 
study  of  bodies.  These  he  divides  into  two  classes :  natural 
bodies  and  political  bodies.  The  latter  have  been  already 
considered.  To  the  former  he  assigns  two  sorts  of  faculties, 
viz :  faculties  of  the  body,  and  faculties  of  the  mind. 
Those  of  the  former  he  sums  up  under  three  heads,  viz : 
power  nutritive,  power  generative,  and  power  motive.  The 
faculties  of  the  mind  are  two,  viz  :  cognitive  and  imagina- 
tive, or  conceptive  and  motive. 

To  understand  the  power  cognitive  he  says:  "  We  must 
remember  and  acknowledge  that  there  be  in  our  minds 
continually  certain  images  or  conceptions  of  the  things 
without  us.  This  imagery  and  representation  of  the 
qualities  of  things  without,  is  that  which  we  call  our  con- 
ception, imagination,  ideas,  notice,  or  knowledge  of  them ; 
and  the  faculty  or  power,  by  which  we  are  capable  of  such 
knowledge,  is  that  I  here  call  cognitive  power,  or  concep- 
tive, the  power  of  knowing  or  conceiving."  *  *  * 
"All  the  qualities  called  sensible  are,  in  the  object  that 
causeth  them,  but  so  many  several  motions  of  the  matter 
by  which  it  presseth  on  our  organs  diversely.  Neither  in 
us  that  are  pressed  are  they  anything  else  but  divers 
motions  ;  for  motion  produceth  nothing  but  motion." 

Sense  furnishes  us  with  conceptions.  Then  we  have 
imagination,  which  is  defined  by  Hobbes  to  be  "  a  con- 
ception remaining,  and  by  little  and  little  decaying,  from 
and  after  the  act  of  sense."  It  is,  therefore,  but  a  decay- 
ing sense.  The  term  memory  is  used  by  Hobbes  to 
express  the  act  of  decay,  and  to  signify  that  the  sense  is 
fading,  old,  and  past.  Imagination  is  used  by  him  in  a 
very  general  sense,  that  of  ideation. 

"  Whatsoever  we  imagine,"  says  he,  "  is  finite.  There- 
fore there  is  no  idea,  no  conception  of  anything  we  call 
infinite.  No  man  can  have  in  his  mind  an  image  of  in- 
finite magnitude,  nor  conceive  infinite  swiftness,  infinite 
time,  or  infinite  power.  When  we  say  that  anything  is 
infinite,  we  signify  only  that  we  are  not  able  to  conceive 


/ 


k 


f  1  J 

'4' 


292 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


the  ends  and  bounds  of  the  thing  named,  having  no  con- 
ception of  the  thing,  but  of  our  own  inability.  And, 
therefore,  the  name  of  God  is  used,  not  to  make  us  con- 
ceive him,  for  he-  is  incomprehensible,^  and  his  greatness 
and  power  are  inconceivable,  but  that  we  may  honor  him. 
Also,  because  whatsoever  we  conceive,  has  been  perceived 
first  by  sense,  either  all  at  once,  or  by  parts ;  a  man  can 
have  no  thought  representing  anything  not  subject  to 
sense." 

He  admits,  however,  that  in  virtue  of  the  law  of  associa- 
tion, which  unites  the  sensations,^  and  which  leads  the 
human  mind  to  ascend  from  cause  to  cause,  we  arrive  at 
the  idea  of  God,  as  a  physical  cause,  although  the  whole 
notion  of  the  divine  nature  is  absolutely  unintelligible. 

The  discovery  se^ms  due  to  Ilobbes,  that  our  sensations 
do  not  correspond  with  any  external  qualities  ;^  that  what 
are  called  sensible  qualities,  are  nothing  but  modifications 
of  the  sentient  being. 

Ilobbes  held  that  there  were  two  kinds  of  knowledge  :  * 
"  whereof,  the  one  is  nothing  else  but  sense,  or  knowledge 
original,  and  remembrance  of  the  same;  the  other  is  called 
science,  or  knowledge  of  the  truth  of  propositions,  and 
how  things  are  called ;  and  is  derived  from  understanding. 
Both  of  these  sorts  are  but  experience;  the  former  being 
the  experience  of  the  eifects  of  things  that  work  upon 
us  from  without;  and  the  latter,  experience  men  have  from 
the  proper  use  of  names  in  language,  and  all  experience 
being,  as  I  have  said,  but  remembrance,  all  knowledge 
is  remembrance." 

Thus,  on  the  assumption  that  all  our  thoughts  are 
nothing  more  than  the  images  of  the  objects  of  sense  —  an 
assumption,  the  truth  of  which  a  moment's  reflection  must 
dissipate,  for  what  are  the  images  of  lieat,  cold,  music,  etc. — 
he  erects,  upon  the  foundation  of  experience,  a  system 
entirely  materialistic  in  all  its  tendencies. 


f 


EUROPE —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


293 


His  theory  of  reasoning  is  very  peculiar.  According  to 
him,  all  reasoning  is  reduced  to  seeking  either  the  whole 
by  the  addition  of  all  its  parts,  or  a  part  by  the  subtraction 
of  the  rest;  *  from  whence  it  follows,  that  deduction  and 
induction  are  only  forms  of  equation,  which  is  the  general 
process  of  the  reason ;  or  in  other  terms,  that  all  human 
cognitions  should  be  expressible  in  mathematical  formulas, 
and  that  everything  which  is  not  expressible  in  that  way, 
has  no  reality,  or,  at  least,  no  reality  accessible  to  our 
intelligence. 

The  success  of  Hobbes  was  never  great  in  England,  but 
he  may  well  rank  as  the  father  of  the  materialistic  systems 
of  the  French  philosophers. 

John  Locke,  the  metaphysician  of  the  Baconian  philoso- 
phy, was  born  at  Wrington,  England,  in  1632.  He  died  in 
1704.  His  Essay  on  the  Human  Understanding,  a  specimen 
of  calm,  and  apparently  well  considered  reasoning,  has 
exerted  a  vast  amount  of  influence  throughout  the  whole 
realm  of  thought. 

Bacon  had  insisted  that  the  understanding,  through  ex- 
perience, arrived  at  the  laws  of  nature.  The  questions 
arising  out  of  this,  are:  1.  What  is  the  understanding ? 
2.  How  do  we  arrive  at  experience,  or  how  does  experience 
result  from  the  human  mind  ?  ^ 

It  was  the  problems  which  these  questions  present,  that 
Locke  undertook  to  solve.  That  he  takes  root  in  Bacon 
is  quite  evident  from  the  two  foundations  upon  which  his 
philosophy  rests.  His  entire  system  reposes  upon  two 
thoughts  : 

1.  There  are  no  innate  ideas. 

2.  All  our  knowledge  arises  from  experience. 

Both  these  thoughts  are  absolutely  indispensable  to  the 
maintenance  of  the  sensualistic  philosophy,  because  if  there 
are  innate  ideas  sensation  is  not  the  only  source  of  know- 


*  Letms,  424.    '  History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  38.    '  Lewes,  420.    *  Idem,  425. 


*  History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  32.    "  Fischer,  435,  436. 


-^  A. 


294 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


i4< 


r\ 


ledge,  and  the  same  result  would  equally  follow  if  we 
could  attain  to  any  knowledge  independent  of  experience. 

The  following  is  the  plan  which  Locke  lays  down  for 
himself: 

*' First.  I  shall  inquire  into  the  original  of  those  ideas, 
notions,  or  whatever  else  you  please  to  call  them,*  which  a 
man  observes  and  is  conscious  to  himself  he  has  in  his 
mind;  and  the  ways  whereby  the  understanding  comes  to 
be  furnished  with  them. 

*'  Secondly.  I  shall  endeavor  to  show  what  knowledge  the 
understanding  hath  by  those  ideas  ;  and  the  certainty,  evi- 
dence and  extent  of  it. 

"  Thirdly.  I  shall  make  some  inquiry  into  the  nature  and 
grounds  of  faith  and  opinion  ;  whereby  I  mean  that  assent 
which  we  give  to  any  proposition  as  true,  of  whose  truth 
we  have  yet  no  certain  knowledge ;  and  we  shall  have  oc- 
casion to  examine  the  reasons  and  degrees  of  assent." 
His  great  object  and  peculiar  merit  consists  in  the  investi- 
gation of  the  origin,  reality,  limits  and  uses  of  knowledge. 

The  method  which  Locke  pursued  was  purely  psycholo- 
gical, although  the  results  he  arrived  at  were  physiological 
in  their  tendency,  and  hence  legitimately  employed  in  the 
erection  of  materialism.  In  carrying  out  this  method  he 
descended  into  the  depths  of  his  own  consciousness,  and 
there  employed  himself  in  patiently  observing  phenomena, 
watching  the  operations  of  his  own  mind,  sitting  at  the 
sources  of  thought,  scanning  the  thinking  process,  and 
stealing  from  it  the  secret  of  its  operations,  and  of  the 
numerous  combinations  it  was  capable  of  producing. 
Thus  in  his  method,  he  is  well  and  properly  styled  the 
founder  of  modern  psychology. 

Locke,  in  all  his  investigations  and  reasonings,  never 
loses  sight  of  his  three  great  primary  objects:  1.  The 
sources  of  knowledge.  2,  Its  reality  and  uses.  3.  Its 
legitimate  limits. 


Leioes,  430. 


■iji 


T 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


295 


t 


«        i 


[r 


What  Bacon  left  as  an  implication  is  taken  as  the  start- 
ing point  of  Locke.  He  had  insisted  that  the  mind  should 
divest  itself  of  all  idols,  all  preconceived  ideas  and  notions, 
in  order  to  clear  away  all  hindrances  to  scientific  progress. 
In  this  work  of  clearing  away,  he  makes  no  exception  ;  and 
hence  there  is  not  a  single  idea  or  notion  of  which  the  mind 
is  unable  to  rid  itself,  not  one  which  is  firmly  anchored 
there  as  innate. 

In  precise  accordance  with  this  is  the  starting  point  of 
Locke,  viz  :  that  there  are  no  innate  ideas;  that  the  mind 
originally  is  a  mere  tabula  rasa,  upon  which  experience 
writes  its  vast  varieties  of  knowledge.  The  only  real 
difference  is  that  Bacon  insists  that  the  mind  shall  be 
made  like  an  empty  casket,  while  Locke  says  that  it  is 
this  by  nature. 

In  coming  upon  ground  purely  psychological,  and  deny- 
ing the  existence  of  innate  ideas,  Locke  was  in  direct  con- 
flict with  Descartes,  and  subsequently  with  Leibnitz.  In 
this  denial  he  went,  and  to  be  effectual  he  must  go  the 
whole  length,  that  is,  that  in  the  human  mind  there  are  no 
innate  laws,  either  of  the  thought,  or  of  the  will,  neither 
axioms  nor  maxims ;  hence  no  natural  knowledge,  moral- 
ity, or  religion.* 

This  doctrine  he  seeks  to  establish  by  means  of  the 
"  negative  instances  "  of  the  Baconian  method.  His  argu- 
ment, in  brief,  is,  if  there  are  innate  ideas,  all  men  must 
have  them,  whereas  experience  shows  that  most  men  know 
nothing  of  the  axioms,  which  he  brings  forward  as  instances 
of  innate  ideas,^  indeed  many  times  never  acquire  a  know- 
ledge of  them  during  their  entire  lives.  There  can,  there- 
fore, be  no  innate  ideas,  and  the  human  mind,  independent 
of  experience,  is  a  tabula  rasa. 

Thus,  according  to  Locke,  there  is  no  natural  knowledge, 
in  the  sense  of  something  originally  given.'  There  is  only 
a  natural  history  of   human   knowledge,   as  something 


*  Fischer,  439.    *  Idem,  441.    '  Idem,  441. 


/ 


296 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


;■( 


I 


gradually  acquired.  The  principal  object  of  the  essay  is 
to  describe  the  natural  history  of  the  human  under- 
standing. 

Locke  did  not  seem  to  consider  that  in  destroying  every- 
thing innate,  and  in  constructing  upon  no  other  foundation 
than  experience  every  individual,  he  was  destroying  the 
foundation  upon  which  nationalities  repose,  and  all  his- 
tory is  erected.  That  foundation  is  well  expressed  by 
Socrates  when  he  says:  that  he  is  obliged  to  obey 
the  laws  of  his  country,  for  he  has  already  preexisted 
in  his  ancestors  as  a  citizen  of  Athens.  If  he  had  come 
into  the  world  an  entirely  new  being,  his  mind,  a  tabula 
rasa,  which  was  yet  to  have  its  development  and  history, 
and  that  to  be  only  his  own  individual  experience,  it  is 
clear  he  could  have  had  no  such  preexistence,  and  hence 
have  been  under  no  such  obligation.  Men,  upon  that 
principle,  could  no  more  form  governments  based  upon  a 
moral  element,  and  which  could  be  the  subjects  of  history, 
than  flies  or  horses. 

In  respect  to  the  origin  and  sources  of  ideas,  the  com- 
mencement and  progress  of  this  natural  history  of  the 
understanding,  Hobbes  had  said  that  all  our  ideas  are  de- 
rived from  sensations,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  intellect 
which  was  not  before  in  the  sense. 

Locke  was  a  psychologist  and  not  a  materialist.  He 
does  not,  therefore,  limit  himself  to  this  source.  In  the 
depths  of  his  own  consciousness  he  had  discovered  that 
there  was  a  thinking  subject  and  thinking  process,  that 
there  was  there  an  element  entirely  overlooked  by  Hobbes, 
viz  :  that  of  reflection.  Thus  he  declared  that  "  although 
sensation  was  the  great  source  of  most  of  our  ideas,  yet 
there  was  another  fountain  from  which  experience  fur- 
nisheth  the  understanding  with  ideas;  and  this  source 
though  it  be  not  sense,  as  having  nothing  to  do  with  ex- 
ternal objects,  yet  it  is  very  like  it,  and  might  properly 
enough  be  termed  internal  sense."  This  is  what  he  calls 
reflection. 


I 


EUllOPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


297 


Thus,  in  terms,  Locke  separated  himself  from  Hobbes 
and  the  materialistic  school.  But  the  doubt  has  been 
whether  that  separation  was  not  apparent  rather  than  real. 
He  superadds  an  inner  sense,  that  by  which  the  mind 
becomes  cognizant  of  its  own  operations,  and  he  terms  that 
reflection.  But  the  important  question  is:  does  this  reflec- 
tion busy  or  employ  itself  about  any  ideas  that  were  not 
originally  derived  through  the  senses  ?  The  answer  to  this 
question  must  decide  the  standing  of  Locke.  If  in  the 
aflirmative,  he  was  a  psychologist;  if  in  the  negative,  he 
must  be  ranked  not  perhaps  as  a  pure  materialist,  but  cer- 
tainly as  one  holding  to  doctrines  clearly  materialistic  in 
their  nature  and  tendency.  The  negative  will  have  to  be 
conceded,  for  as  he  obtains  everything  from  experience,  re- 
flection can  do  nothins:  more  than  to  furnish  consciousness, 
with  a  knowledge  of  thinking  processes,  or  modes  of  men- 
tal activity,  and  not  with  ideas.  Locke  seems  to  admit  no 
idea  whose  root  was  not  originally  in  the  sense.  Besides, 
he  holds  that  reflection,  although  difterent  from  sensation, 
as  it  does  not  refer  to  an  external  object,  yet  has  a  funda- 
mental characteristic  in  common  with  it,^  as  they  both 
imply  a  feeling  and  a  sentiment;  and  hence  to  both  belongs 
equally  the  term  sense,  that  one  being  external  and  the 
other  internal. 

Another  point  going  to  show  that  the  negative  is  the 
correct  answer  is  the  time  stated  by  Locke  at  which  both 
these  sources  go  into  activity.  "  If  it  be  demanded,"  says 
he,  "  when  a  man  begins  to  have  ideas,  I  think  the  true 
answer  is,  when  he  first  has  any  sensation.  For  since  there 
appear  not  to  be  any  ideas  in  the  mind  before  the  senses 
have  conveyed  any  in,  I  conceive  that  ideas  in  the  under- 
standing are  coeval  with  sensation." 

Again  more  explicitly  in  reference  to  these  sources.  "  In 
time  the  mind  conies  to  reflect  on  its  own  operations  about 
the  ideas  got  by  sensation,  and  thereby  stores  itself  with  a 


*  History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  39. 
vi]  38 


/ 


298 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


^ 


new  set  of  ideas,  which  I  call  ideas  of  reflection.  These 
are  the  impressions  which  are  made  on  our  senses  by  out- 
ward objects  that  are  extrinsical  to  the  mind,  and  its  own 
operations  proceeding  from  powers  intrinsical,  and  proper 
to  itself,  which  when  reflected  on  by  itself,  becoming  also 
objects  of  its  contemplation,  are,  as  T  have  said,  the  original 
of  all  knowledge.  Thus  the  first  capacity  of  the  human 
intellect  is  that  the  mind  is  fitted  to  receive  the  impressions 
made  on  it;  either  through  the  senses  by  outward  objects 
or  by  its  own  operations  when  it  reflects  on  them." 

Having  ascertained  the  sources,  Locke  next  busies  him- 
self about  the  ideas  themselves,  which,  in  their  aggregate, 
constitute  knowledge.  These  ideas  are:  1.  Simple.  2. 
Complex.  The  first  are  derived  immediately  from  percep- 
tion. So  far  as  they  are  simple  ideas  of  sensation,  they  are 
those  impressed  from  without  upon  the  understanding 
while  it  remains  in  a  passive  state,  very  much  as  the  images 
of  objects  are  represented  in  a  mirror.  But  as  thinking 
and  willing  are  also  objects  of  internal  perception,  we  have 
also  simple  ideas  of  reflection." 

Locke  is  quite  ingenious  in  the  manner  of  deriving  ideas, 
thus: 

*'  The  idea  of  space  is  given  us  by  sight  and  touch ;  it  is 
resolved  at  bottom  into  that  of  body.^ 

"  The  idea  of  time  comes  from  the  reflection  of  the  soul  on 
the  series  of  ideas  which  follow  after  each  other. 

"  The  idea  of  infinity,  very  obscure  and  jiurely  negative,  is 
resolved  into  the  idea  of  number  conceived  as  indefinitely 
repeated  by  the  mind. 

"  The  idea  of  personal  identity  from  the  union  of  memory 
and  consciousness,  a  union  in  virtue  of  which  we  judge  that 
such  or  such  a  past  action  was  done  by  the  same  being  who 
actually  represents  it  himself. 

*'  The  ideas  of  cause  and  efl:ect  are  derived  both  from  sensa- 
tion and  from  reflection  ;  from  sensation,  inasmuch  as  they 


*  Mistary  of  PhUosaphy,  ii,  40. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


299 


■•■ 


express  a  succession  of  phenomena,  of  which  one  constantly  , 
takes  place  after  another ;  from  reflection  because  tlie  idea 
of  power  is  principally  furnished  by  the  consciousness  of 
our  own  internal  activity  or  our  will. 

"  The  idea  of  right  and  wrong  is  radically  nothing,  but  the 
idea  of  happiness  or  misery  attached  to  the  observance  or 
infraction  of  a  maxim  proposed  as  a  law,  that  is  to  say,  to 
the  idea  of  a  reward  or  punishment." 

The  idea  of  substance  was  of  very  difiicult  explanation 
by  Locke.  He  explains  its  origin  by  stating  that  we  find 
both  in  sensation  and  reflection  that  a  certain  number  of 
simple  ideas  seem  often  to  be  connected  together.  But  as 
these  ideas  seem  not  to  have  been  produced  through  them- 
selves, we  are  accustomed  to  furnish  them  with  a  ground 
in  some  existing  substratum,  which  we  indicate  by  the 
word  substance.  Substance  is,  therefore,  something  to  us 
entirely  unknown,  and  is  conceived  of  as  possessing  those 
qualities  which  are  necessary  to  furnish  us  with  simple 
ideas.  We  do  not  know  what  is  the  archetype  of  substance, 
and  of  substance  itself  we  are  acquainted  only  with  its  attri- 
butes. 

In  reference  to  complex  ideas,  Locke  says,  "that  when 
the  understanding  is  once  stored  with  these  simple  ideas, 
it  has  the  power  to  repeat,  compare,  and  unite  them, 
even  to  an  almost  infinite  variety,  and  so  can  make  at 
pleasure,  new  complex  ideas."  "  But,"  he  adds,  "  it  is 
not  in  the  power  of  the  most  exalted  wit,  or  enlarged  un- 
derstanding, by  any  quickness  or  variety  of  thought,  to 
invent  or  frame  one  new  simple  idea  in  the  mind  not 
taken  in  by  the  ways  aforementioned." 

Locke  next  investigates  the  question  which  concerns 
the  principle  of  knowledge,  or  the  correspondence  of 
ideas  to  things.  But  as  language  exerts  a  great  influence 
in  the  formation  of  abstract  ideas,  and  becomes  the  occa- 
sion of  many  errors,^   he   first  treats  of  the    relation  of 


^History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  41. 


,il 


300 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


|f 


N 


words  to  ideas,  in  order  to  discover  the  illii8ii3ii8  of  which 
words  are  the  source,  and  comes  then  to  the  relation  of 
ideas  to  things,  or  to  knowledge. 

Locke  was  here  called  upon  to  grapple  with  the  problem 
of  human  knowledge,  its  reality,  certainty,  and  limits ;  a 
problem  which  ^till  lacks  a  satisfactory  solution. 

As  to  the  nature  of  knowledge,  whether  it  be  objective 
or  subjective,  a  knowledge  appertaining  to  or  inherent  in 
the  object,  or  existing  only  in  the  subject,  or  thinking  being, 
he  took  a  half  way  stand,  thus  accommodating  both  sides  of 
the  question.  He  taught  that  there  were  primary  and 
secondary  qualities  in  bodies,  and  that  our  ideas  of  the 
former  are  resemblances  of  what  really  exist  in  the  bodies 
themselves,  but  that  the  ideas  produced  in  us  by  secondary 
qualities  have  no  resemblance  of  them  at  all.  Thus,  he 
says,  ''  It  is  evident  that  the  bulk,  figure,  and  motion  of 
several  bodies  about  us,  produce  in  us  several  sensations, 
as  of  colors,  sounds,  tastes,  smells,  pleasure  and  pain,  etc. 
These  mechanical  affections  of  bodies  having  no  affinity  at 
all  with  those  ideas  they  produce  in  us  — there  being  no  con- 
ceivable connection  between  any  impulse  of  any  sort  of 
body,  and  any  perception  of  a  color  or  smell  which  we  find 
in  our  minds  —  we  can  have  no  distinct  knowledge  of  such 
operations  beyond  our  experience;  and  can  reason  about 
them  no  otherwise  than  as  the  effects  produced  by  an 
infinitely  wise  agent,  which  perfectly  surpass  our  compre- 
hensions. *  *  *  *  The  things  that,  as  far  as  our 
observation  reaches,  we  constantly  find  to  proceed  regularly, 
we  may  conclude  do  act  by  a  law  set  them  ;  but  yet  by  a 
law  that  we  know  not,  whereby,  though  causes  work 
steadily,  and  effects  constantly  flow  from  them,- yet  their 
connections  and  dependencies  being  not  discoverable  in  our 
ideas,  we  can  have  but  an  experimental  knowledge  of  them." 

Even  in  regard  to  the  reality  of  the  primary  qualities,  he 
does  not  seem  perfectly  well  assured,  for  he  has  taken  the 
precaution  to  warn  us  "  that  so  we  may  not  think,  as  per- 
haps usually  is   done,   that  they  (ideas)   are   exactly  the 


\ 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


301 


ir 


■I' 


images  and  resemblances  of  something  inherent  in  the 
subject;  most  of  those  of  sensation  being  in  the  mind  no 
more  the  likeness  of  something  existing  without  us  than 
the  names  that  stand  for  them  are  likenesses  of  our  ideas, 
which  yet  upon  hearing  they  are  apt  to  excite  in  us." 

This  taken  in  connection  with  his  idea,  or  rather  non- 
idea  of  substance,  will  justify  the  conclusion  that  according 
to  Locke,  we  never  perceive  the  intrinsic  nature  of  things,' 
but  only  their  outward  manifestation  and  qualities.  This 
was  really  an  abandonment  of  metaphysics,  as  the  meta- 
physics profess  to  be  the  knowledge  of  the  substance  of 
things.^ 

Locke  even  doubted  the  immateriality  of  the  soul,  as  he 
says,  "perhaps"  it  may  be  material.^  "  He  inquires  how 
our  ideas  can  be  representatives  of  finite  spirits  ;*  and  as  he 
cannot  find  in  the  ideas,  as  he  has  conceived  them,  the 
principle  of  such  a  representation,  he  concludes  we  can  no 
more  know  by  our  ideas  the  existence  of  finite  spirits,  than 
we  can  know  the  existence  of  fairies  by  the  ideas  which 
we  form  of  them." 

And  yet  on  the  theological  stand  point,  Locke  has  taken 
for  his  foundation  the  point  which  he  had  doubted  in  his  psy- 
chology,^ basing  his  proof  of  the  existence  of  the  deity,  upon 
the  thinking,  that  is,  the  spiritual  nature  of  the  human  soul, 
and  the  existence  of  finite  spirits.  The  argument  is, 
"  There  are  spirits ;  therefore,  as  their  cause,  there  must 
be  an  eternal  spirit,  since  the  spiritual  cannot  proceed 
from  the  spiritless,  the  thinking  from  the  unthinking.  So 
that  either  there  is  no  thinking  being  at  all,^  or  a  thinking 
being  existed  from  all  eternity."  The  existence  of  the 
supreme  being  could  not  be  demonstrated  upon  the  prin- 
ciples of  Locke's  philosophy. 

It  is  important  to  understand  the  precise  point  reached 
by  Locke  as  to  the  problem  of  human  knowledge,  with  the 


*  Fischer,  443.    "  Idem,  444.     "  Idem,  445.    ''  History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  42. 
''  Fischer,  445.    "  Idem ,  445. 


i   ,i 


^\ 


302 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


view  of  connecting  with  liira  the  skeptical  and  materialistic 
schools.  He  had  arrived,  as  we  have  already  seen,  at 
the  subjective  nature  of  all  human  knowledge,  with 
the  single  exception  of  asserting  its  objective  nature  as 
to  the  primary  qualities  of  bodies,  but  at  the  same  time 
admitting  there  could  be  no  idea  of  substance.  He  seems 
however,  to  have  assumed  the  entire  subjectivity  of  know- 
ledge, and  grounded  upon  that,  to  have  even  advanced  his 
outposts  into  a  region  beyond.  "Since,"  says  he, ''the 
mind  in  all  its  thoughts  and  reasonings  hath  no  other  im- 
mediate object  but  its  own  ideas,  which  it  alone  does  or  can 
contemplate,  it  is  evident  that  our  knowledge  is  only  con- 
versant about  them.  Knowledge,  then,  seems  to  me  nothing 
but  the  perception  of  the  connection  and  agreement,  or 
disagreement  and  repugnancy  of  any  one  of  our  ideas. 

"  *  *  *  It  is  evident  that  the  mind  knows  not 
things  immediately,  but  only  by  the  intervention  of  ideas 
it  has  of  them.  Our  knowledge  therefore  is  real,  only  so 
far  as  there  is  a  conformity  between  our  ideas  and  the 
reality  of  things.  But  what  shall  be  here  the  criterion? 
How  shall  the  mind,  when  it  perceives  nothing  but  its  own 
ideas,  know  that  they  agree  with  the  things  themselves?" 

Thus  is  the  problem  stated  by  Locke,  with  a  clearness 
that  only  renders  more  apparent  the  difficulty  of  its  solu- 
tion.    The  following  is  Locke's  solution  : 

"There  are,"  says  he,  "two  sorts  of  ideas,  the  simple 
and  the  complex ;  or,  to  use  more  modern  language,  per- 
ceptions and  conceptions.  The  first  must  necessarily  be 
the  product  of  things  operating  on  the  mind,'  in  a  natural 
way,  and  producing  those  perceptions,  which,  by  the  wisdom 
and  will  of  our  maker,  they  are  ordained  and  adapted  to. 
From  whence  it  follows,  that  simple  ideas  are  not  fictions 
of  our  fancies,  but  the  natural  and  regular  productions  of 
things  without  us,  really  operating  upon  us ;  and  so  carry 
with^'them  all  the  conformity  which  was  intended,  or  which 


^ Lewes,  446. 


■■#■ 
I'll 

,:* 


.■■•ji 


/^ 


EUHOPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPIIY. 


303 


our  state  requires ;  for  they  represent  things  to  us  under 
those  appearances,  which  they  are  fitted  to  produce  in  us." 

This,  it  will  be  perceived,  rests  altogether  short  of 
absolute  certainty.  His  position  is,  that  "  ideas  may  be 
true  for  us,  without  being  at  all  true  when  considered  abso- 
lutely." 

Thus  we  arrive  at  Locke's  limits  of  the  human  under- 
standing. It  was  as  far  as  his  own  principles  could  carry 
him.  He  had  attempted  to  physchologize  experience,  and 
this  was  the  best  he  could  do.  He  was  in  reality  the 
philosopher  of  experience,  and  could  not  go  beyond  it. 
Arrived  at  its  limit  he  sits  down  contentedly  with  the  con- 
soling reflection :  "  The  candle  that  is  set  up  within  us 
shines  bright  enough  for  all  our  purposes." 

The  principles  enfolded  within  the  philosophy  of  Locke, 
and  still  more  plainly  perceptible  in  that  of  Hobbes,  were 
not  suflered  to  remain  in  obscurity.  They  were  there,  and 
must  be  developed  in  the  world's  thinking.  We  follow 
this  thinking  in  two  main  currents,  the  one  materialistic, 
the  other  skeptical.  As  before  stated,  the  following  is  the 
form  of  its  expression  : 


Hobbes 


Locke 


m 


< 

l-i 

Pi 

Eh 

< 

1^ 


"  Hartley 

Darwin 

Coiid  iliac 

■<    He] v«  tills 

Holbacli 

Cabanig 

^  DeTracy 


Berkeley  )■  3 


m 


Outgrowths  of  the  Baconian  Philosophy — Materialism :  Hartley 
t>ariviv,  Oondillac,  Belveiiiis,  Bolbach,  Cabayiis,  DeTracy. 
Skepticism :  Berkeley. 

David  Hartley  was  born  in  Yorkshire,  England,  in  1705, 
and  died  in  1757.     His  is  the  philosophy  of  vibration,  and 


•I- 


304 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


it  constitutes  probably  tbe  first  attempt  to  explain  psycbolo- 
gical,  or  purely  mental  phenomena  upon  physiological 
principles. 

He  assigns  the  white  medullary  substance  of  the  brain, 
spinal  marrow,  and  nerves,  as  the  immediate  instrument  of 
sensation  and  motion.^  Then  his  position  is  that  "  exter- 
nal objects  impressed  upon  the  senses  occasion,  first  in 
the  nerves  on  which  they  are  impressed,  and  then  in  the 
brain,  vibrations  of  the  small,  or,  as  one  may  say,  infinit- 
esimal medullary  particles.  These  vibrations  are  motions 
backwards  and  forwards,  of  the  same  kind  as  the  oscillation 
of  pendulums,  and  the  tremblings  of  the  particles  of  sound- 
ing bodies.  They  must  be  conceived  to  be  exceedingly 
short  and  small,  so  as  not  to  have  the  least  efficacy  to  dis- 
turb or  move  the  whole  bodies  of  tlie  nerves  or  brain.  For 
that  the  nerves  themselves  should  vibrate  like  musical 
strings  is  highly  absurd." 

The  nervous  ether  penetrating  the  nerves,  is  the  seat  of 
these  oscillations.  The  vibration  theory  makes  sensation 
the  result  of  a  nervous  oscillation.  All  this,  however,  is  a 
mere  hypothesis.  But  it  lacks  the  quality  that  can  alone 
render  a  hypothesis  of  any  value,  viz :  it  is  wholly  inca- 
pable of  verification. 

Erasmus  Darwin  was  born  at  Elton,  England,  in  1731, 
and  died  in  1802.  His  theory  in  principle  varied  but  little 
from  Hartley's;  for  in  the  place  of  the  vibrations  of  the 
latter  he  substitutes  sensorial  motions.  By  sensorium 
he  means  not  only  the  medullary  part  of  the  brain,  but  also 
that  living  principle  or  spirit  of  animation,^  which  resides 
throughout  the  body  without  being  cognizable  to  our  senses, 
except  by  its  efl^ects.  He  terms  the  changes,  which  take 
place  in  the  sensorium,  sensorial  motions. 

The  medullary  substance,  according  to  him  passes  along 
the  nerves,  and  mingles  with  the  muscular  fibres.     The  or- 


'  Lewes,  509,  510.    '  Idem,  512.. 


:l 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


305 


iiiiiiiiilll|i| 


I 


f  "I 


1:' 

J .u 


m 


gans  of  sense  consist  of  moving  fibres  enveloped  in  the 
medullary  substance.  An  idea  is  a  contraction  or  motion, 
or  configuration  of  the  fibres,  which  constitute  the  imme- 
diate organ  of  sense.  He  subordinated  all  psychological 
phenomena  to  the  laws  of  life. 

But  it  was  in  France,  the  home  of  Descartes,  that  the 
materialistic  tendencies  contained  in  the  philosophy  of 
Locke  were  to  receive  their  full  development. 

Etienne  de  Condillac  was  born  at  Grenoble  in  1715,  and 
died  in  1780.  He  was  at  first  a  disciple  of  Locke,  and  in 
his  first  work  lays  down  as  a  fundamental  principle  that 
"sensations  and  the  operations  of  the  mind  are  the  ma- 
terials of  all  our  knowledge,  materials  which  reflection  sets 
in  action  by  seeking  their  combinations  and  relations."  ^ 

But  Locke  had  placed  great  stress  upon  the  sensuous 
origin  of  our  knowledge,  and  Condillac,  in  his  subsequent 
reflections,  was  led  to  the  conclusion  not  only  that  the 
senses  were  the  origin  of  knowledge,  but  that  their  action, 
the  sensations  produced  by  them,  constituted  knowledge 
itself.  He  went  so  far  as  to  find  that  not  only  all  ideas,  the 
elements  and  substance  of  every  variety  of  knowledge,^ 
but  even  all  our  faculties,  those  which  constitute  the  mind, 
an  ever  living,  acting  organism,  were  nothing  more  than 
mere  sensations,  or  derivatives  direct  from  our  sensual 
organs.  Instead  of  mind,  with  certain,  elementary  facul- 
ties, he  sets  out  with  but  one  elementary  faculty,  that  of 
sensibility,  out  of  which  all  the  faculties  are  evolved  by  the 
action  of  external  objects  on  the  senses.  This  was  going 
a  great  way  beyond  Hobbes,  who,  although  he  maintained 
that  there  was  nothing  in  the  intellect,  which  had  not  before 
been  in  the  sense,  yet  he  could  not  dispense  with  faculties 
to  gather  up  what  was  derived  from  the  sense  and  clothe 
it  with  intellectual  forms. 

Condillac's  reasoning  on  this  subject  is  very  curious. 


*  Lewes,  496.    '  Idem,  496. 
VI]  39 


306 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


"  If,"  Bays  he,  **  a  multitude  of  senBatioiis  operate  at  the 
same  time  with  the  same  degree  of  vivacity,  or  nearly  so, 
man  is  then  only  an  animal  that  feels ;  experience  suffices 
to  convince  us,  that  then  the  multitude  of  impressions 
takes  away  all  activity  from  the  mind.     But  let  only  one 
sensation  subsist,^  or  without  entirely  dismissing  the  others 
let  us  only  diminish  their  force;  the  mind  is  at  once  occu- 
pied more  particularly  with  the  sensation  which  preserves 
its  vivacity,  and  that  sensation  becomes  attention,  without 
its  being  necessary  for  us  to  suppose  anything  else  in  the 
mind.     If  a  new  sensation  acquire  greater  vivacity  than  the 
former,  it  will  become  in   its  turn  attention.      But  the 
greater  the  force  which  the  former  had,  the  deeper  the 
impression  made  on  us,  and  the  longer  it  is  preserved. 
Experience  proves   this.     Our  capacity   of  sensation   is, 
therefore,  divided  into  the  sensation  we  have  had,  and  the 
sensation  we  now  have.     We  perceive  them  both  at  once, 
but  we  perceive  them  diflerently :  the  one  seems  as  past, 
the  other  as  present.     The  name  of  sensation  designates 
the  impression  actually  made  upon  our  senses  ;  and  it  takes 
that  of  memory  when  it  presents  itself  to  us  as  a  sensation 
which  has  formerly  been  felt.     Memory,  therefore,  is  only 
the  transformed  sensation.     When  there  is  double  atten- 
tion there  is  comparison ;  for  to  be  attentive  to  two  ideas 
or  to  compare  them,  is  the  same  thing.     But  we  cannot 
compare  them  without  perceiving  some  difference  or  some 
resemblance  between  them :  to  perceive  such  relations  is 
to  judge.     The  acts  of  comparing  and  judging  are  there- 
fore  only  attention ;  it  is  thus  that  sensation  becomes  suc- 
cessively attention,  comparison,  judgment." 

This  is  a  specimen  of  the  reasoning  of  Condillac  the  first 
great  direct  advocate  of  the  materialistic  school. 

Claude  Adrian  Helvetius,  born  at  Paris  in  1715,  the  same 
year  as  Condillac ;  died  in  1771,  applied  the  sensualistic  sys- 


Lewes,  498. 


'■» 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


307 


t 


tem,  now  sunk  into  materialism,  to  the  subject  of  morals. 
Assuming  that  Condillac  had  proved  his  doctrine,  and  that 
in  the  sphere  of  intelligence  there  is  nothing  but  sensations, 
he  proceeded  to  lay  down  the  doctrine  that  there  can  there- 
fore be  in  the  sphere  of  the  will  nothing  but  pleasure  and 
pain.  This  he  attempted  to  prove  by  showing  that  the 
will  can  act  only  upon  elements  furnished  by  the  intelli- 
gence, and  claiming  that  sensations  in  their  relation  to  the 
will  are  nothing  more  than  pleasure  or  pain. 

The  system  of  Helvetius  contains  two  orders  of  ideas. ^ 
One  deduces  from  the  principles  of  sensualism  the  morality 
of  self-interest.  This  is  a  clear,  logical  deduction.  The 
one  naturally,  if  not  necessarily,  flows  from  the  other. 

The  other  order  seeks  to  find  in  this  morality  of  self- 
interest  the  foundation  of  duty,  obligation  and  virtue.  Here 
conies  his  great  difficulty ;  to  find  in  pure  selfishness  the 
root  of  principles  that  are  unselfish  and  can  only  be  ex- 
panded in  an  atmosphere  free  from  every  selfish  taint. 
This  was  a  task  to  which  he  proved  incompetent.  But  if 
intelligence,  with  all  its  faculties,  could  be  merged  in  sensa- 
tion, it  might  reasonably  be  expected  that  duty,  obliga- 
tion and  virtue  could  be  found  flowing  from  self-interest. 
Every  philosophy,  if  accurately  examined,  will  be  found 
consistent  in  the  principles  it  seeks  to  carry  out. 

Paul  H.  D.  Baron  Von  Ilolbach,  born  in  1723,  died  in 
1789,  applied  the  principles  of  sensualism  to  a  theory  of 
the  universe.  This  was  done  in  a  work  attributed  to  him 
alone,  or  in  conjunction  with  his  associates,  in  a  work 
entitled,  the  Systevi  of  Nature.  In  this  work  it  is  asserted 
that  there  is  nothing  in  the  universe  but  matter  and  mo- 
tion. That  both  these  are  inseparably  connected  together. 
All  particular  beings  are  nothing  but  the  diflerent  combi- 
nations which  motion  produces  in  matter.  The  moving 
force  grows  out  of  attraction  and  repulsion,  and  all  the 


History  of  Philosophy,  it,  44. 


';::nz: 


•ssim 


308 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


309 


\  \ 


different  motions  we  behold  are  the  product  of  these  two ; 
and  out  of,  and  by  means  of,  all  these  vast  varieties  of 
motion,  *^  arise  the  various  connections,  and  the  whole 
manifoldness  of  things."     These  principles  of  motion  are 

eternal. 

This  moving  force  is  developed  in  various  degrees. 
The  first  or  lowest  degree  of  it  suffices  for  the  production 
of  unorganized  bodies ;  the  second,  for  bodies  that  are 
organized  ;  and  the  highest,  for  those  organized  bodies 
that  are  possessed  of  sensibility,  which  is  itself  only  the 
effect  of  a  certain  kind  of  organization.  All  human 
actions  are  the  necessary  result,  either  of  the  internal 
motion  of  the  organization,  or  of  those  external  motions 
by  which  they  are  modified. 

Thought  is  only  a  modification  of  the  brain.  The  mind 
of  man  is  wholly  material,  because  that  which  is  not  ma- 
terial can  never  act  upon  matter,  can  never  set  matter  in 
motion,  for  there  is  no  point  of  contact  between  the  two. 

There  is  no  God  other  than  the  moving  power,  in 
matter.  Any  other  is  the  product  of  fear,  and  the  author 
of  superstition.     The  true  system  of  nature  is  atheistic. 

As  a  natural,  and  even  necessary,  consequence  of  this 
system,  all  freedom  is  merged  in  necessity,  and  being  ter- 
minates with  life.  Man  is  a  blind  instrument  in  the  hands 
of  necessity,  as  the  universe  itself  is  only  an  endless  series 
of  necessary  motions,  perpetuating  themselves,  and  con- 
stantly expanding  in  every  possible  direction.  The  soul 
being  only  a  modification  of  a  substance,  must  of  course 
cease  with  the  cessation  of  the  substance.  To  live  in  the 
memory  of  posterity  is  the  only  immortality. 

Previous  to  the  publication  of  the  Si/stem  of  Nature,  and 
even  the  birth  of  Von  Holbach,  as  early  as  1713,  and  which 
was  continued  to  1784,  was  published  in  France,  the  Phi- 
losophical Encyclopaedia,  by  Diderot  and  d'Alembert,  which 
more  than  any  other,   reflected  the  inner  consciousness  of 


the  French  people  of  that  epoch.^  Well  seasoned  with 
wit  and  sarcasm,  and  in  the  spirit  of  Voltaire,  it  "  reasoned 
away  law  from  the  state,  freedom  from  morality,  and 
spirit  and  God  from  nature,  though  all  this  was  done 
only  in  scattered,  and,  for  the  most  part,  timorous  intima- 
tions." 

The  sensualistic  philosophy,  under  the  lowest  form  of 
materialism,  ran  quite  through  the  eighteenth  century  in 
France,  furnishing  two  of  its  representatives  near  the  close 
of  the  century. 

Pierre  Jean  Georges  Cabanis  was  born  at  Cognac  in 
1757,  and  died  in  1808.  He  sought  to  complete  what 
Locke  originally,  and  Condillac  succeeding  him,  had  left 
defective.  Locke  had  shown  the  sensational  origin  of 
ideas;  Condillac  that  all  ideas  and  faculties  were  derived 
from,  or  mere  modifications  of  sensation.  It  remained  for 
Cabanis  to  investigate  sensation  itself,  to  physiologize  ma- 
terialism. 

This  he  has  done  by  referring  sensation  to  the  nervous 
system.  He  makes  it  depend  on  every  impression  made 
upon  the  extremities  of  any  set  of  nerves,  being  followed 
by  a  reaction  from  the  centre  of  the  organ  towards  the 
extremities.  Thus  sensibility  is  made  to  unfold  itself  in 
two  distinct  stages.^  In  the  second  it  reacts.  In  the  first 
it  flows  back  from  the  circumference  to  the  centre.  In  the 
second  it  returns  from  the  centre  to  the  circumference. 
This  action  and  reaction  must  both  exist  before  the  senti- 
ment or  impulse  intended  to  be  produced  can  take  place. 
Thus,  upon  the  principles  before  established  in  this  school, 
all  intellect,  moral  feelings,  volitions,  emotions,  even 
mental  faculties,  were  reducible  to  sensation.  Now  sensa- 
tion itself  was  shown  to  be  simply  an  affection  of  the 
nerves,  so  that  man,  and  all  the  phenomena  of  possible 
production  by  him  are  all  resolvable  into  nerves. 


^Ilutory  of  Philosophy,  ii,  45. 


'Sch  iregle,  200,  207.    ""  History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  214. 


y 


■ '  <■ 


310 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


L  i<i 


i- 


R. 


) 


This  theory  had  a  wonderful  simplicity.  All  that  was 
required  to  be  given  was  the  nerves.  Then  an  impression 
received,  an  action  and  reaction  of  the  nerves,  a  sentiment 
or  idea  resulting,  and  the  theory  is  complete. 

The  relations  between  the  physical,  and  the  moral  and  in- 
tellectual in  man,  were  thus  solved  upon  this  theory,  the 
intellectual  and  moral  faculties  are  the  effect,  the  physical 
nervous  organization  the  cause.  Idea  or  sentiment  is  at 
once  the  last  term  of  the  phenomena  which  constitute  life, 
and  the  first  of  those  which  we  attribute  to  mind. 

He  explained  the  great  facility  by  which  age,  sex,  tem- 
perament, climate,  influence  the  intellectual  and  moral 
character  of  men,  by  insisting  that  they  were  only  so  many 
circumstances  affecting  the  nervous  system,  and  through 
that  the  sensibility,  intelligence  and  will.  Ascertain  the 
causes  acting  upon  the  nerves,  and  the  feelings  that  result 
from  them,  and  all  moral  and  intellectual  phenomena  are 
of  easy  explanation. 

He  also  drew  a  parallel  between  the  action  of  the 
stomach  in  digestion,  and  that  of  the  brain  in  thinking. 
The  impressions  from  without  he  called  the  food  of  the 
brain.  Upon  this,  the  properties  of  the  brain  react  as  the 
gastric  juice  of  the  stomach  does  upon  its  contents,  and  the 
result  is  that  thought  is  secreted. 

This  should  have  been  the  last  shot  fired  by  materialism, 
as  Cabanis  occasionally  discovers  glimpses  of  higher  prin- 
ciples, and  before  his  death  fairly  awoke  to  the  conviction 
that  the  soul  is  not  a  result  of  the  organization,  but  is  a 
distinct  living  force  present  in  it.^ 

Count  Destutt  De  Tracy,  born  in  1754  and  publishing 
his  Elements  of  Idealogy  in  1801,  is  the  metaphysician,  as 
Cabanis  was  the  physiologist,  of  the  materialistic  school. 

All  he  has  done  is  to  explain  more  clearly,  and  to  carry 
a  little  further  the  principles  of  Condillac.     He  held  that 


'  History  of  PhilosopJii/,  ii,  216. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


311 


the  mind  was  nothing  but  sensibility,  and  this  sensibility 
was  succeptible  of  four  sorts  of  impressions : 

1.  Those  arising  from  the  present  action  of  objects  upon 

the  organs. 

2.  Those  resulting  from  their  past  action,  by  means  ot 
a  certain  disposition  which  that  action  left  upon  the  organs. 

3.  Those  of  things  which  have  relations,  and  may  be 

compared. 

4.  Those  which  spring  from  our  wants,  and  lead  us  to 

seek  satisfaction  for  them. 

''  Everything  comes  from  the  afifection  of  the  sensibility 
through  impressions  made  upon  the  organs  of  sense.  When 
the  sensibility  is  affected  by  the  first  sort  of  impressions  it 

feels  simply. 

When  by  the  second,  it  repeats  or  recollects.^ 

When  by  the  third,  it  feels  relations  or  judges. 

When  by  the  fourth,  it  desires  or  wills. 

Thus  sensation,  according  to  the  nature  of  its  objects, 
manifests  itself  respectively  as  pure  perception,  or  memory, 
or  judgment,  or  will.  It  is,  therefore,  the  sole  principle  of 
all  our  faculties,  and  of  all  operations  of  the  mind,  since 
there  is  none  of  them  which  may  not  be  reduced  to  one  or 
the  other  of  these  forms  of  sensibility." 

We  have  now,  with  one  single  exception,  arrived  at  the 
ultimate  limit  of  the  sensualistic  philosophy  inaugurated 
by  Bacon,  developed  morally,  politically,  and  metaphysi- 
cally by  Hobbes  and  Locke,  and  materialistically  by  the 
French  philosophers.  That  exception  exists  in  the  positiv- 
ism of  Comte,  which,  although  closely  allied  to  the  sen- 
sualistic, yet  we  shall  consider  as  a  transition  from  the 
schools  originated  by  the  critical  philosophy. 

It  seems  to  have  been  the  mission  of  the  French  mind, 
first  to  give  birth  to  idealism,  the  rationalistic  philosophy, 
in  the  person  of   Descartes;  and  then  to  push  out  into 


History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  217. 


i 


^^ 


312 


HISTORY  OB"  CIVILIZATION. 


i^V 


their  ultimate  results  the  principles  involved  in  sensualism, 
until  everything  embraced  in  the  materialistic  philosophy 
was  fully  brought  out  and  even  ostentatiously  displayed  in 
all  their  startling  proportions.  To  do  this  required  the 
whole  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  thus  during  three 
successive  generations,  France  surrendered  herself  to  the 
reign  of  materialism.  During  the  most  of  this  period 
there  was  no  psychology,  no  mind,  except  what  could  be 
collected  from  the  action  of  the  organs  of  sense,  no  morality 
except  what  could  be  extracted  from  self-interest,  no  God, 
except  the  moving  power  in  nature,  and  no  immortality 
except  the  memory  of  men.  All  veneration  for  the  su- 
preme being,  all  reverence  for  the  authority  of  law,  all 
the  deep  feelings  which  could  proceed  only  from  the  soul, 
had  nearly  died  out  from  the  Gallic  heart.  The  moral 
bonds  that  bind  man  to  the  state,  and  connect  man  with 
man,  and  family  with  fomily,  were  materially  loosened,  if 

not  destroyed. 

The  result  must  be  told  by  history ;  for  this  voluntary 
self-abrogation  of  human  prerogatives ;  this  denial  of  a 
God  in  heaven  and  a  man  on  earth,  this  sinking  of  the 
human  into  the  mere  animal  nature,  could  not  be  saflered 
to  pass  unavenged.  Nor  did  it.  The  revolution  came, 
and  the  bitter  fruits  of  materialism  ripened  into  the  reign 

of  terror. 

And  yet  the  lesson  was  necessary,  the  principles  legiti- 
mately embraced  in  sensualism  must  be  fully  developed 
and  pushed  into  their  ultimate  results.  This  could  be  done 
only  by  surrendering  up  a  people  and  a  century  to  its  phi- 
losophy. 

We  now  turn  to  the  other  branch,  the  other  current  into 
which  flows  the  course  of  thinking  of  sensualistic  reflection, 
and  here  we  encounter  the  skepticism  of  Berkeley. 

George  Berkeley  was  an  Irishman,  born  in  1684,  and 
died  in  1753.     His  real  position  in  philosophy  has  been 


I J 


\ 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


313 


I 


I 


much  of  a  puzzle,  and  given  occasion  for  difference  of 
opinion.  He  has  very  generally  been  ranked  as  an  ideal- 
ist, and  hence  belonging  to  the  rationalistic,  not  the  sensu- 
alistic school.  But  I  think  it  can  be  shown  quite  clearly 
that  he  is  to  Locke,  and  the  sensualistic  school,  what  Hume 
is  to  Descartes  and  the  rationalistic,  and  that  he  is  there- 
fore a  link  in  the  series  that  marks  the  transi  tion  to  Hume, 
the  most  profound  of  the  skeptics.^  Berkeley's  dialogues, 
in  which  his  peculiar  doctrines  are  developed,  were  directed 
against  the  skeptics,  and  he  does  not  seem  to  be  aware 
that  within  his  own  theory  he  was  nursing  the  germ  of  a 
skepticism  that  was  subsequently  to  receive  a  masterly 
development  by  his  acute  successor.^ 

Berkeley  was  a  clergyman,  and  ultimately  a  bishop,  and 
was  probably  shocked  at  the  materialism  towards  which 
the  sensualistic  philosophy  was  so  rapidly  tending.  But 
where  could  lie  the  error  ?  Locke  had  fully  demonstrated 
that  "  all  our  knowledge  consists  in  ideas  as  the  immedi- 
ate objects  of  consciousness."  His  psychology  was,  there- 
fore, unassailable.  But  the  method  of  transition  from  the 
inward  world  of  ideas  to  the  outward  world  of  things  was 
the  point  upon  which  Berkeley  fastened,  and  in  which  he 
supposed  he  had  detected  the  error. 

Locke  had  divided  bodies  into  those  possessing  primary 
qualities,  as  extension,  mobility,  solidity,  and  those  posses- 
sing secondary  qualities  as  color,  and  admitted  that  in  the 
latter  there  is  nothing  like  our  ideas  existing  in  the  bodies 
themselves.  That  those,  therefore,  exist  only  in  id^a,  are 
subjective.  But  as  to  the  former,  our  inward  ideas  must 
necessarily  imply  some  objective  material  existence,^ 
which  they  resemble  and  by  which  they  are  originated. 
He  supposed  there  must  exist  a  substance  which  was 
really  a  mere  figment  of  the  mind,  a  substratum  which 
served  to  unite  the  qualities  or  attributes,  and  in  which 
they  all  inhered. 


'Fischer,  454.    *  Idem,  462.    '  Morell,  141 . 
VI]  40 


2E= 


^tfSS 


314 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


This  inferred  substance  was  attacked  by  Berkeley,  who 
claimed  that  the  same  doctrine  should  apply  to  bodies 
with  primary  qualities,  as  to  those  with  secondary,  and  that 
"  all  the  qualities  we  perceive  in  bodies  are  but  the  powers 
to  produce  sensations  in  us;  ^  and  that  it  is  we  who  attri- 
bute to  the  causes  of  these  sensations  a  form  analogous  to 
their  effects." 

Berkeley  asserted  that  as  we  cannot  possibly  get  beyond 
our  ideas,  these  ideas,  and  nothing  else,  must  be  the  real 
objects  of  our  knowledge. 

His  main  positions  were  thai  the  "  objects  of  knowledge 
are  ideas,  and  nothing  but  ideas.  All  human  knowledge 
can  only  be  the  knowledge  of  ideas,  and  of  nothing  but 
ideas.  Objects  being  identified  with  ideas,  and  we  having 
no  idea  of  an  object  but  as  it  is  perceived,  the  esse  of  ob- 
jects to  us  is  percepi." 

Two  questions  only  remain  : 

1.  What  did  Berkeley  doubt  the  existence  of,  and  dis- 
pose of  in  getting  rid  of  the  material  world  ? 

2.  What,  in  reality,  were  the  ideas  which  his  philosophy 
admitted  the  existence  of? 

In  reference  to  the  first,  when  Berkeley  denied  the  exist- 
ence of  matter,  it  is  clear  that  what  he  meant  by  matter 
was  that  unknown  substratum,  which  existed  as  a  mere 
inference  of  Locke,  that  fancy  created  noumenon,  sup- 
posed to  underlie  all  phenomena ;  that  something  in  which 
all  accidents  might  inhere.  In  reference  to  this  he  says: 
"  It  is  a  mere  abstraction.  It  is  unknown,  unknowable  ; 
it  is  a  figment,  and  I  will  none  of  it ;  for  it  is  a  figment 
worse  than  useless;  it  is  pernicious  as  the  basis  of  all 
atheism.  Kby  matter  you  understand  that  which  is  seen, 
felt,  tasted,  and  touched,  then  I  say  matter  exists  :  ^  I  am 
as  firm  a  believer  in  its  existence  as  any  one  can  be, 
and  herein  I  agree  with  the  vulgar.  If,  on  the  con- 
trary, you  understand  by  matter,  that  occult  substratum 


'  Letoes,  444.    '  Idem,  463. 


f 


.» 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


315 


which  is  not  seen,  not  felt,  not  tasted,  that  of  which  the 
senses  do  not,  cannot,  inform  you,  then  I  say  I  believe  not 
in  the  existence  of  matter,  and  herein  I  differ  from  the 
philosophers  and  agree  with  the  vulgar." 

Again :  "  I  do  not  argue  against  the  existence  of  any 
one  thing  that  we  can  apprehend,  either  by  sensation 
or  reflection.  That  the  things  I  see  with  my  eyes  and 
touch  with  my  hand,  do  exist,  really  exist,  I  make  not 
the  least  question.  The  only  thing  whose  existence  I 
deny,  is  that  which  philosophers  call  matter,  or  corporeal 
substance. 

4,  As  to  the  second  question,  he  says  :  "  I  am  not  for  chang- 
ing things  into  ideas,  but  rather  ideas  into  things;  since 
those  immediate  objects  of  perception,  which  according  to 
you,  are  only  appearances  of  things,  I  take  to  be  the  real 
things  themselves." 

And  again :  "  That  what  I  see,  hear,  and  feel,  doth  exist, 
i.  e.,  is  perceived  by  me,  I  no  more  doubt  than  I  do  of  my 
own  being ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  the  testimony  of  sense 
can  be  alleged  as  a  proof  of  anything  which  is  not  perceived 
by  sense." 

Hence  it  is  obvious  that  what  are  called  things  in  ordi- 
nary language,  he  calls  ideas,  or  things  in  us,  which,  as 
such,  are  as  real,  and  stand  on  as  secure  a  basis  as  they 
do  in  the  opinion  of  the  unthinking,  who  fancy  that  nature 
is  external  to  ourselves.^ 

We  do  not  perceive  things  themselves,  but  only  their 
copies  in  our  minds ;  we  only  perceive  our  own  impressions. 
This  will  be  admitted  by  all.  But  most  persons  believe 
that  the  real  things  stand  behind  their  impressions,  and  are 
the  originals  that  are  copied  and  reflected  in  our  senses,^ 
It  is  the  belief  in  the  originals  of  the  copies,  external  to 
ourselves,  which  Berkeley  seeks  to  destroy;  and  he  does  so 
by  converting,  as  he  styles  it,  ideas  into  things,  that  is,  the 
copies  themselves  into  the  originals. 


» Fischer,  460.    '  Idem,  460,  461. 


■•k* -^■. '*tr- ' 


I  V 


I 


^ 


316 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


In  this  view  of  the  ease,  which  is  strongly  sustained  by 
the  language  of  Berkeley,  the  conclusions  of  Dr.  Fischer 
possess  great  force.     ''If,"  says  he,  *' we  would  arrive  at 
the  sum  total  of  Berkeley's  philosophy,^  it  is  deduced  from 
the  proposition  that  sensuous  perceptions  are  things,  which 
proposition  is  itself  no  more  than  the  conclusion  and  final 
result  of  sensualism.     If  perceptions  are  things,  it  follows 
that  all  human  knowledge  is,  in  truth,  empirical  self-know- 
ledge, that  in  all  cases  we  only  experience  our  own  given 
state,  and  that  thus  all  experience  can  merely  be  self  experi- 
ence.    Berkeley  has  done  more  than  establish  this   fact. 
If  knowledge  altogether  is  more  than  experience,  as  BacQP 
has  said ;  if  all  experience  is  no  more  than  sensuous  percep- 
tion, as  Locke   has   said ;  we  must  then  conclude,  with 
Berkeley,  that  we  know  nothing  but  our  own  impressions, 
that  our  impressions  are  the  things  themselves,  and  that, 
therefore,  the  knowledge  of  things,  if  we  rightly  investigate 
the  matter,  is  no  more  than  a  knowledge  of  ourselves,  or, 
more  strictly  speaking,  experience  of  ourselves." 

Thus  whichever  branch  we  take  of  the  Baconian  philo- 
sophy, we  terminate  alike  in  profound  sensualism,  the  one 
materialistic,  the  other  idealistic;  the  one  merging  the 
senses  in  matter,  the  other,  mind  in  the  senses. 

And  this  philosophy,  from  its  very  nature,  must  be 
empirical,  sensational.  If  all  we  get  is  derived  from  experi- 
ence, if  no  idea  or  impression  can  enter  the  mind  except 
through  the  avenue  of  sense,  what  possibility  is  there  of 
arriving  at  any  idea,  even  the  faintest,  of  spiritual  natures, 
or  of  any  spiritual  attributes  ?  Further,  how  can  there  be, 
through  the  entire  range  of  existences,  any  spiritual  beings  ? 
And  how  can  the  supreme  being,  the  spiritual  source  of 
all  being,  be  apprehended  ?  And  if  the  senses  are  the  only 
inlets  of  feeling,  ideas,  knowledge,  what  kind  of  existence 
is  that  which  survives  their  total  annihilation  ?  It  is  a 
philosophy  conditioned  by  sensation.     The  moral,  intellec- 


T 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


317 


Fischer,  467. 


tual,  spiritual  part  is  shut  up,  and  forever  confined  within 
the  circle  of  the  senses.  This  is  the  most  favorable  view 
of  it.  It  is  the  philosophy  of  Locke.  But  this  was  far 
from  reaching  the  limit.  Its  legitimate  results  must  follow. 
This  same  part  must  become  a  mere  modification  of  sensa- 
tion, and  thus  constitute  the  materialism  of  the  French 
philosophers;  or  it  merges  ideas  in  the  senses,  thus  con- 
stituting the  idealistic  sensationalism  of  Berkeley. 

Rationalistic  Philosoiihy  —  Descartes,  Malebranche,  Spinoza. 

Having  from  the  objective  stand  point  traced  sensualism, 
the  empirical  philosophy,  through  its  various  phases  into 
its  legitimate  results,  we  now  return  to  the  first  half  of  the 
seventeenth  century  to  view  the  other  great  foundation  of  all 
philosophy,  to  contemplate  idealism  erecting  its  subjective 
stand  point,  and  from  it,  developing  the  rationalistic  philo- 
sophy.    This  had  its  origin  in  the  mind  of  a  Frenchman. 

Rene  Descartes  (Cartesius)  was  born  in  Touraine,  of 
Breton  parents,  in  1596,  and  died  in  1650.  Bacon  was 
thirty-five  years  old  at  the  birth  of  Descartes,  and  the 
latter  had  attained  the  age  of  thirty-six  at  the  birth  of 
Locke  and  Spinoza.  It  will  be  seen,  therefore,  that  the 
great  founders  of  the  two  philosophies  were  contempora- 
ries. 

It  is  well  to  bear  in  mind  here  at  the  outset  that  in  pass- 
ing from  the  philosophy  of  Bacon  to  that  of  Descartes,  we 
are  to  visit  a  new  philosophy,  and  one  so  entirely  difi^erent 
from  that  almost  contemporaneous  in  its  origin,  that  it 
might,  without  violence,  have  belonged  to  a  difterent 
planet.  It  was  difl:erent  in  its  stand  point ;  in  its  method,  in 
its  processes,  and  in  its  objects. 

The  stand  point  of  Bacon  was  the  objective,  the  external 
world,  all  the  facts  and  processes  of  nature.  That  of  Des- 
cartes was  the  subjective,  the  mind,  that  living  spiritual 
organism  which  observes  and  reasons. 


318 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


} 


Kl 


The  method  of  Bacon  was  the  inductive.  That  of  Des- 
cartes the  deductive. 

Bacon  argued  from  effects  to  causes,  from  known  to 
unknown.  Descartes  deduced  effects  from  causes  explain- 
ing phenomena  by  noumena. 

They  both  cultivated  physics,  but  for  widely  different 
purposes.  The  object  of  Bacon  in  its  cultivation  was  to 
render  it  the  basis  of  all  the  sciences,  and  to  extend  the 
dominion  of  man  over  nature.  That  of  Descartes  was  to 
illustrate  his  own  principles,  and  to  enlarge  man's  know- 
ledge of  his  own  mind. 

They  both  agreed  in  the  separation  of  religion  from 
philosophy,  but  they  differed  in  this,  that  the  former 
declared  the  problems  of  religion  insoluble  by  reason, 
and  beyond  the  pale  of  philosophy,  while  the  former 
declared  them  soluble  only  by  reason,  and  that  it  was 
the  first  object  of  philosophy  to  give  them  a  solution. 
And  yet  both  began  by  invoking  substantially  the  same 
spirit,  the  skeptical.  Bacon  insisted  on  rejecting  all  the 
idols  that  had  preoccupied  the  mind,  upon  commencing 
the  work  of  indirection  upon  sound  and  accurately  scien- 
tific principles. 

Descartes  would  not  only  throw  aside  all  idols  but  every- 
thing else  except  the  thinking  principle.  He  began  by 
adopting  the  most  sweeping  skepticism.  Every  idea,  every 
portion  of  the  mental  furniture,  was  successively  detached 
and  thrown  away,  until  he  reached  the  power  that  was  at 
work  in  rejecting,  and  that  alone  remained.  He  doubted 
the  truth  and  verity  of  everything  until  he  arrived  at  the 
thing  that  doubted,  and  there  he  was  obliged  to  stop.  His 
object  was  to  find  a  starting  point  from  which  to  reason,  a 
certainty  that,  under  all  circumstances,  must  be  true  and 
absolute,  and  that  he  found  in  his  own  consciousness. 
"  Doubt  as  I  may,"  says  he,  "  I  cannot  doubt  my  own 
existence,  because  my  very  doubt  reveals  to  me  a  some- 
thing which  doubts."  Hence  the  "  cogito,  ergo  sum,"  "  I 
think,  therefore  I  am,"  lies  at  the  foundation  of  the  Carte- 


• 


\ 


1 


i 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


319 


sian  philosophy.  This  was  purely  psychological ;  and, 
although  Locke  commenced  psychologically,  yet  he  did  not 
continue  and  close  in  the  same  manner.  But  Descartes 
preserved  throughout  the  same  principle.  Thus,  although 
the  first  may  be  styled  the  father,  yet  the  second  is  the 
founder  of  modern  psychology. 

From  this  single  proposition  the  whole  nature  of  mind 
was  determined.  It  would  follow  that  if  existence  is 
identified  with  thinking  and  the  one  was  only  rendered 
possible  and  provable  by  the  other;  hence  the  charac- 
teristic of  the  mind  must  consist  in  thought.  The  mind 
can  have  no  extension,  figure,  or  other  quality  of  body. 
Its  sole  element  is  the  reason,  intelligence,  power  of  com- 
prehension ;  its  sole  essence,  thought. 

He  had  now  found  himself  in  his  consciousness,  and  that 
he  could  repose  upon  with  certainty.  But  this  alone 
would  never  carry  him  beyond  himself  Was  he  the  only 
being  in  the  universe  ?  Was  there  nothing  external  to  his 
own  thinking  being  ? 

Descartes  travels  from  himself  into  the  external  world 
by  means  of  consciousness.  "  Consciousness,  "  said  he, "  is 
the  basis  of  all  knowledge ;  it  is  the  ground  of  absolute 
certainty.  Whatever  it  distinctly  proclaims  must  be  true. 
The  process,  then,  is  simple.*  Examine  your  consciousness, 
and  its  clear  replies.  All  clear  ideas  are  true.  Whatever 
is  clearly  and  distinctly  conceived  is  true." 

Again,  "we  have  no  knowledge  whatever  of  anything 
external  to  us  except  through  the  medium  of  ideas.  What- 
ever we  find  in  the  ideas  must  necessarily  be  in  the  exter- 
nal things.  It  is  only  in  our  minds  that  we  can  seek 
whether  things  exist,  or  not.  There  cannot  be  more  real- 
ity in  an  eftect  than  in  a  cause.  The  external  thing,  being 
the  cause  of  the  idea,  must  therefore,  possess  as  much  real- 
ity as  the  idea,  and  vice  versa.  So  that  whatever  we  con- 
ceive as  existent,  exists." 


^  Lewes,  371. 


»•»»■   ■«     r^'.- 


320 


HISTORY  OB"  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


321 


') 


J 


As  the  reality,  in  fact  tlie  existence  of  things  objective, 
is  made  dependent  upon  ideas,  it  becomes  important  to 
understand  the  rules  for  the  detection  of  these  ideas.  He 
lays  down  for  that  purpose  the  four  following  rules  : 

1.  l*^ever  to  accept  anything  as  true,  but  what  is  evi- 
dently so;  to  admit  nothing  but  what  so  clearly  and  dis- 
tinctly presents  itself  as  true,  that  there  can  be  no  reason 
to  doubt  it. 

2.  To  divide  every  question  into  as  many  separate  ques- 
tions as  possible,  that  each  part  being  more  easily  conceived, 
the  whole  may  be  more  intelligible. 

3.  To  conduct  the  examination  with  order,  beginning 
by  that  of  objects  the  most  simple,  and  therefore  the  easiest 
to  be  known,  and  ascending  little  by  little,  up  to  knowledge 
of  the  most  complex. 

4.  To  make  such  exact  calculations,  and  such  circum- 
spections, as  to  be  confident  that  nothing  essential  has  been 
omitted.^ 

Descartes  appears  to  have  had  in  view  two  great  objects. 
The  one,  the  establishment  of  absolute  certitude.  This  he 
found  in  the  consciousness  of  the  thinking  process ;  the 
other,  the  method  by  which  this  certitude  could  have  all 
possible  application. 

To  understand  what  may  have  guided  him  to  his 
method,  it  is  necessary  to  remark  that  he  was  a  very  dis- 
tinguished mathematician.^  At  the  age  of  twenty-three, 
he  discovered  the  application  of  algebra  to  geometry.  He 
supposed  the  mathematics  to  contain  an  immense  capacity 
of  application.  He  was  deeply  impressed  with  the  certi- 
tude of  the  mathematics,  and  conceived  the  idea  of  apply- 
ing mathematical  reasoning  to  the  subject  of  metaphysics. 
He  imagined  he  discovered  in  them  a  certitude  which 
would  correspond  to  the  certitude  of  consciousness ;  that 
while  the  first  would  afford  the  ground,  the  second  would 
the  method  of  the  same  certitude. 


Hence  the  establishment  of  the  deductive  method  of 
Descartes.     The  premises  having  been  furnished,  the  con- 
clusions must  now  result  from  the  deduction  of  conse- 
quences,^ and  this  he  would  apply  as  well  to  physics  as  to 
psychology;   as   he  declares  his  intention  *'of  giving  a 
short  account  of  the  principal  phenomena  of  the  world,  not 
with  a  view  of  using  them  as  reasons  to  prove  anything, 
for"  he  adds  "we  desire  to  deduce  effects  from  causes,  not    / 
causes  from  effects,  but  only  in  order  that  out  of  the  innu- 
merable effects  which  we  learn  to  be  capable  of  resulting 
from  the  causes,  we  may  determine  our  minds  to  consider 
some  rather  than  others." 

And  in  accordance  with  this  declaration  he  adopts,  in 
his  physics,  a  method  which  allows  him  to  set  aside  the 
qualities  and  material  forms  of  bodies,  and  to  consider 
only  the  relations  of  number,  figure  and  motion,  thus  recog- 
nizing in  physics  only  mathematical  problems,  and  thus 
resulting  in  giving  the  mathematical  side  of  physics. 

Descartes  recognizes  three  kinds  of  ideas,  the  acquired, 
the  self-originated,  and  the  innate,  comprehending  under 
the  term  idea  "  all  that  can  be  in  our  thoughts."  Among 
the  innate  he  includes  the  idea  of  God,^  mind,  body, 
triangle,  and  generally  all  those  which  represent  true,  im- 
mutable and  eternal  essences.  From  the  innate  ideas  of 
Descartes  have  grown  the  necessary  truths  of  a  more 
modern  philosophy. 

Thus  Decartes  clearly  recognized  the  doctrine  that  we 
have  ideas  independent  of  experience,  and  this  point  of 
departure  from  the  Baconian  philosophy  has  for  the  most 
part  been  adhered  to  in  speculative  philosophy. 

The  idea  of  God  is  adduced  by  Descartes  both  as  an 
argument  to  prove  the  existence  of  innate  ideas  and  also 
as  one  of  the  fruits  of  that  doctrine.  He  claims  that  we 
find  within  ourselves  the  idea  of  God.  Whence  comes  the 
idea?     Clearly  not  from  ourselves.     We  have  a  concep- 


H 


'Lewes,  372.    Udefn,  372. 


'  Lewes,  473.    » Idem,  282. 
VI] 


322 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


tion  of  a  nature  higher  than  our  own,  and  that  conception 
could  only  come  from  him  \vhose  nature  is  actually  more 
perfect.  Again,  we  are  finite.  To  the  idea  of  God  belongs 
the  infinite.  Such  an  idea  could  only  be  given  us  through 
or  by  a  being  actually  infinite.  It  is  an  idea  that  could  not 
be  derived  from  sense,  for  it  is  one  that  could  neither  be 
added  to  nor  diminished. 

Again,  the  conception  of  God  must  arise  from  a  sense  of 
our  own  imperfection.  The  consciousness  of  existence  is 
as  a  being  imperfect,  finite,  in  all  respects  conditioned. 
But  consciousness  also  informs  that  this  finite,  limited,  condi- 
tioned being  is  not  the  all.  The  very  existence  of  finitude, 
imperfection,  limitation,  conditional ity,  necessarily  imply 
their  correlatives,  infinitude,  perfection,  the  unconditioned. 
Hence  necessarily  arises  the  idea  of  God.  But,  according 
to  Descartes  an  idea  in  the  consciousness  implies  the  ex- 
istence out  of  it  of  the  thing  of  which  it  is  the  idea.  His 
argument  therefore,  might  be  stated  in  the  following 
syllogism : 

"All  that  we  clearly  and  distinctly  conceive  as  contained 
in  anything,  is  true  of  that  thing.^ 

"Now  we  can  conceive,  clearly  and  distinctly,  that  the 
existence  of  God  is  contained  in  the  idea  w^e  have  of  him. 
Therefore  God  exists."  But  it  is  obvious  that  error  is 
intermingled  with  trutli  in  all  our  ideas,  and  knowledge. 
What  guaranty,  therefore,  have  we  that  the  being  we  con- 
ceive as  perfect  is  really  so  ?  To  answer  this  it  is  necessary 
to  ask,  whence  comes  error  ?  To  this  he  answers  that  it  can- 
not come  from  the  intelligence,  as  intelligence  produces 
ideas  ;  and  no  idea  can  be  false,^  because  then  tVie  idea  of  a 
thingwould  not  contain  what  it  contained.  Errors,  therefore, 
do  not  proceed  from  the  understanding.  They  proceed  from 
the  will,  which  being  more  extensive  than  the  understand- 
insr,  is  not  restrained  within  the  same  limits,  but  is  extended 
to  things  beyond  it,  and  hence  is  productive  of  errors. 


Lewes,  376.    '  History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  53. 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


323 


i 


^ 


Having  found  in  consciousness,  self  and  God,  the  crea- 
tor, a  perfect  being  unmingled  with  error,  because  proceed- 
ing from  the  intelligence,  Descartes  has  found  a  road  to 
the  creation.  Still,  his  creator,  being  a  creature  of  his  own 
conceptions,  could  put  forth  no  other  powers,  and  produce 
no  other  results  than  such  as  he  could  make  objects  of  con- 
ception. Thus  he  was  driven  back  to  consciousness  as  a 
revealer  of  creation.     But  he  finds  it  adequate  to  the  task. 

He  finds  in  his  consciousness  two  sorts  of  ideas:  the  one 
of  thought,  the  other  of  extension,  and  to  one  of  these  two 
categories  belong  all  human  ideas.  The  world  then  com- 
prehends two  classes  of  beings,  each  possessed  of  difi:erent 
natures,  spirits  and  bodies.  The  peculiar  and  exclusive 
characteristic  of  the  first  was  thought;  that  of  the  second, 
extension.  This  was  the  fundamental  principle  lying  at 
the  bottom  of  all  his  theories,  which  naturally  fell  into  two 
divisions,  the  philosophy  of  spirits,  and  the  philosophy  of 
bodies. 

Descartes  appears  to  have  been  aware  of  the  difliculties, 
that  have  so  strongly  pressed  themselves  upon  other  minds 
arising  from  passing  the  limits  of  consciousness,  and  hence 
of  arriving  at  the  understanding  of  bodies.  He  therefore 
seeks  to  fortify,  or  rather  ground,  his  position  that "  whatever 
we  find  in  the  ideas  must  necessarily  be  in  the  external 
things,"  upon  confidence  in  God.  We  find  in  our  minds 
the  conviction  of  this  identity  of  minds  and  things.  An  all 
wise  and  all  perfect  being  would  not  have  planted  such  a 
conviction  there  unless  it  was  an  absolute  verity.  We  have 
therefore  his  guaranty  of  its  truth,  and  although,  therefore, 
the  knowledge  of  bodies  must  rest  upon  belief,  and  that  of 
spirits  upon  conception,  yet  we  can  be  equally  as  well  as- 
sured of  the  truth  of  the  one  as  of  the  other. 

His   theories   of   spirits   and   bodies   were   correlative. 
To  spirits  belong  thought,  which  is  essential;    and  will,    vj 
which  is  thought  in  motion.^    To  bodies  belong  extension', 

^History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  56. 


324 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


ii 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


325 


which  is  essential,  and  motion  produced  in  it.  Physica.l 
philosophy  is,  then,  and  radically,  the  theory  both  of  the 
immutable  properties  of  extension  and  of  the  changeable 
properties  which  depend  upon  motion.  Hence  all  explana- 
tions of  material  phenomena  ought  to  flow  from  mechanics, 
and  rest  on  the  basis  of  mathematics.  Making  in  this  way 
the  universe  a  purely  mechanical  one,  Decartes's  philosophy, 
alike  with  that  of  Bacon's,  shut  out  entirely  the  considera- 
tion of  final  causes. 

Descartes  gave  a  mighty  extension  to  the  mechanical 
or  natural  philosophy.  He  included  within  it,  all  phe- 
nomena not  purely  psychological.  From  the  inorganic 
universe  he  banished  space,  because  the  essence  of  sub- 
stance, or  bodies,  being  extension,  wherever  there  is  ex- 
tension, there  must  necessarily  be  substance ;  and  hence 
space  is  an  impossibility.  He  rejected  the  idea  of  atoms, 
and  held  to  the  infinite  divisibility  of  matter,  and  along 
with  this,  to  its  unlimited  extension.  Out  of  extension  and 
vacuum,  and  some  other  mechanical  principles,  he  deduced 
his  theory  of  vortexes  to  account  for  planetary  motions;  a 
theory  which  disappeared  soon  after  the  discovery  of  gravi- 
tation. 

He  brought  the  organic  universe  also  under  the  princi- 
ples of  the  mechanical  philosophy.  Animals  are  only  au- 
tomata,^ all  their  movements  being  referable  to  the  laws 
of  motion.  He  also  brought  the  organic  life  of  man 
tinder  the  same  principles,  allowing  the  sensations  and 
passions  their  seat  in  the  spiritual  principle,  but  referring 
their  physical  causes  to  the  general  theory  of  mechanics. 

There  are,  at  least,  two  difficulties  discoverable  in  the 
philosophy  of  Descartes;  the  one  growing  out  of  an  as- 
sumption of  his ;  the  other,  an  unavoidable  conclusion  from 
his  own  premises.  The  assumption  is  that  before  alluded 
to,  that  "whatever  we  find  in  the  ideas,  must  necessarily  be 
in  the  external  things.     This  he  grounds  upon  two  reasons : 

^Histary  of  PhUomphy,  ii,  57,  58. 


4 


I 


^  lilt 


1.  The  evidence  of  consciousness.     - 

2.  The  guaranty  of  God. 

In  regard  to  the  first,  consciousness  furnishes  no  evidence 
whatever  as  to  the  reality  of  external  things.  It  can  only 
furnish  evidence  of  the  state  and  condition  of  our  own 
thinking  being.  The  shining  of  the  sun  is  no  part  of  our 
consciousness.  IS'o  part  of  the  external  world  at  all  enters 
into  it.  It  lies  wholly  outside  of  it. 
^  The  guaranty  of  God  is  by  a  being  of  our  own  concep- 
tion, and  of  his  existence  we  can  no  more  be  conscious 
than  of  that  of  the  external  world.  The  guaranty  there- 
fore falls  with  the  ability  of  the  guarantor. 

As  to  the  other,  the  conclusion,  that  arises  out  of  the 
distinctness  and  entirely  separate  nature  of  his  two  philo-     ( 
Sophies.     If  body  is  essentially  extension,  and  mind  essen-    H 
tially  thought,  and  the  two  have  nothing  in  common  with 
each  other,  then  this  dualistic  relation  between  body  and 
mind  must  extend  to  body  and  soul,  and  the  union  between 
them  can  be  conceived  only  as  a  mechanical  one.     Each  is 
an  independent  factor,  distinct  from  and  even  opposed  to 
the  other,  their  only  union  can  be  a  powerful  bringino-  of 
the  two  together.     Being  distinct,  independent,  and  even 
opposed,  they  cannot  interpenetrate  each  other,  but  can 
touch   only  at   one   point   when   they  are    thus   brought 
together.     This  point  of  contact,  this  seat  of  the  soul,  is, 
according  to  Descartes,  the  pineal  gland,   a  little  kernel 
near  the  middle  of  the  brain.^    He  selected  this  for  the 
reason,  that  the  other  parts  of  the  brain  are  two-fold,  and 
if  the  soul  had  its  seat  in  any  of  them  all  objects  would 
appear  double.     As  this  gland  appeared  a  unit  in  its  con- 
struction, Descartes  assigned  to  it  the  seat  of  the  soul,  the 
place  where  all  our  thinking  is  performed. 

l^icolas  Malebranche  was  born  at  Paris,  in  1638,  and 
died  in  1715.     We  can  only  here  consider  him  as  a  link  in 

^Schwegle,  178. 


326 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


327 


the  cliaiii  of  development  of  the  Cartesian  philosophy,  lie 
starts  with  the  Cartesian  view  of  the  relation  between  mind 
and  matter,  regarding  the  two  as  separate,  distinct,  and 
opposed  to  each  other.  He  then  asked  the  same  question, 
'which  Descartes  had  attempted  to  answer,  viz  :  how,  if 
there  be  this  perfect  distinctness  and  opposition,  notliing 
existing  between  them  in  common,  can  the  mind  travel 
out  of,  or  beyond  itself,  and  make  any  acquaintance  with 
matter  ?  It  can  certainly  neither  gain  any  knowledge  of 
external  things  from  itself,  nor  from  the  things  tliemselves. 
Kot  from  itself  because  it  cannot  idealize,  cannot  over- 
come the  opposition  existing  between  it  and  external 
things.  Not  from  external  things,  because  they,  composed 
of  matter,  are  antithetic  to  mitid,  and  absolutely  unintelli- 
gible. There  is  no  power,  therefore,  in  either  to  act  or 
react  upon  the  other.  But  there  is  a  power  superior  to 
both,  and  to  which  neither  has  any  opposition.  That 
power  is  God,  absolute  substance,  absolute  ideality,  the 
infinite  power  to  spiritualize  all  things.  In  him  are  all 
things  spiritually  and  ideally.  The  whole  world,  as  intel- 
lectual or  ideal,  is  God.  His  doctrine  is,  that  "  it  is  in  and 
through  the  divinity  that  we  apprehend  all  things,^  which 
are  comprehended  intellectually  in  his  essence;  that  the 
divinity  is  the  intellectual  world;  infinite  and  universal 
reason,  and  the  abode  of  spirits.  By  the  doctrine  of  occa- 
sionalism he  was  further  led  to  assign  to  the  soul  and  body 
a  sort  of  passive  activity,  and  to  represent  the  deity  as  the 
original  cause  of  all  their  operations. 

Thus  to  overcome  the  dualism  bequeathed  to  philosophy 
by  Descartes,  Malebranche  identified  the  entire  ideal  or  in- 
tellectual world  with  God,  and  when  reminded  that  if  we 
see  the  archetypes  of  all  things  in  God,^  there  was  no  need 
of  a  material  world,  and  why,  therefore,  should  its  existence 
be  assumed?  He  replied  by  referring  to  that  statement  in 
revelation,  that  '*  In  the  beginning  God  created  the  heaven 
and  the  earth." 


I 


III 


Tenneman,  380.    '  Morell,  123. 


The  same  year,  1632,  that  witnessed  the  birth  of  John 
Locke,  was  also  signalized  by  the  birth  of  Baruch  or  Bene- 
dict Spinoza,  who  was  a  Jew,  born  at  Amsterdam,  and  died 
in  1677. 

Spinoza,  like  Malebranche,  began  with  Descartes.  ■  As 
the  materialistic  school,  and,  when  rightly  understood,  the 
Berkelian  also,  were  only  the  strict  and  logical  develop- 
ments of  the  Baconian  philosophy ;  so  also  were  the  systems 
of  Malebranche  and  Spinoza,  that  of  the  Cartesian.  It  re- 
quired the  full  development  of  both  these  philosophies  to 
prepare  the  way  for  the  skepticism  of  Hume. 

Descartes  had  derived  everything  from  one  principle, 
that  of  perfection  in  the  great  cause.  He  had  left  a  fatal 
dualism  with  spirit  and  its  thought,  and  body  with  its 
extension,  standing  over  against,  and  in  opposition  to  each 
other,  with  the  equivocal  term  substance  equally  belong- 
ing to  both,  the  one  being  a  thinking,  the  other  an  exten- 
sion substance.  Spinoza  claimed  that  perfection,  thought 
and  extension  were  nothing  more  than  attributes  and  that 
the  substance  in  which  they  inhered  was  one,  was  absolute 
existence. 

Descartes  entertained  the  idea  that  the  mathematical 
method  might  be  applied  to  metaphysics.  Spinoza  actu- 
ally made  the  application,  and  his  system  presents  itself  as 
the  result  of  this  method  thus  applied.  As  geometry  has 
its  definitions,  axioms,  propositions  and  scholia,  so  has  the 
system  of  Spinoza. 

This  system  rests  upon  three  fundamental  conceptions, 
from  which,  granting  the  truth  of  his  definitions,  axioms 
and  propositions,  it  is  deduced  with  mathematical  certainty. 
These  conceptions  are  substance,  attribute,  and  mode. 

Substance  he  defines  to  be  "  that  which  exists  in  itself, 
and  is  conceived  per  se,  the  conception  of  which  does  not 
require  the  conception  of  anything  else  antecedent  to  it." 
Descartes  had  defined  it  to  be  "  that  which  needs  nothing 
else  in  order  to  its  existence."  Thus  Spinoza  starts  from 
Descartes. 


328 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EU  ROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


329 


Atribute,  he  defines  to  be  "that  which  the  mind  per- 
ceives as  constituting  the  very  essence  of  substance." 

By  modes,  he  understands  "  the  accidents  of  substance  ; 
or  that  which  is  in  something  else,  through  which  also  it  is 
conceived."  ^ 

By  God,  he  understands  "a  being  absolutely  infinite; 
i.  e.,  the  substance  consisting  of  infinite  attributes,  each  of 
which  expresses  an  infinite  and  eternal  essence." 

By  being  free,  he  understands  "  that  which  exists  by  the 
sole  necessity  of  its  nature,  and  by  itself  alone  is  determined 
to  action.  And  that  is  necessary  or  constrained,  which 
owes  its  existence  to  another,  and  acts  according  to  certain 
and  determinate  causes." 

By  a  thing  which  is  its  own  cause,  he  understands  a 
thing,  "the  essence  of  which  involves  existence,  or  the 
nature  of  which  can  only  be  considered  as  existent." 

Specimens  of  axioms :  "  Everything  which  is,  is  in  it- 
self, or  in  some  other  thing."  "  That  which  cannot  be 
conceived  through  another,  must  be  conceived  through 
itself."  "  The  knowledge  of  an  eftect  depends  on  the 
knowledge  of  the  cause,  and  implies  it."  "  Things  that 
have  nothing  in  common  with  each  other,  cannot  be  under- 
stood by  means  of  each  other."  '*  A  true  idea  must  agree 
with  its  object." 

Specimens  of  propositions  :  "  Substance  is  prior  in  na- 
ture to  its  accidents."  "  Two  substances  having  difi^'erent 
attributes,  have  nothing  in  common  with  each  other." 
"  Of  things  which  have  nothing  in  common,  one  cannot* 
be  the  cause  of  the  other."  "  If  they  have  nothing  in 
common,  they  cannot  be  conceived  by  means  of  each 
other."  "  Things  are  distinguished  among  themselves,' 
either  through  the  diversity  of  tbeir  attributes,  or  through 
the  diversity  of  their  modes."  '*  It  is  impossible  that  there 
should  be  two  or  more  substances  of  tlie  same  nature,  or  of 
the  same  attributes.     "One  substance  cannot  be  created 


by  another  substance."  "It  pertains  to  the  nature  of 
substance  to  exist."  "  All  substance  is  necessarily  in- 
finite." 

Spinoza's  doctrine  is  derived  from  his  definitions,  axioms 
and  prop  )sitions.  He  held  to  one  infinite  substance,  and 
that  he  called  God.^  Whatever  is,  is  God ;  and  without 
him  nothinjr  can  be  conceived.  He  is  the  sole  substance, 
the  universal  being,  of  which  all  things  are  the  manifjesta- 
tions.  This  god  is  the  god  of  the  pantheist,  and  his 
nature  should  be  fully  understood. 

1.  He  is  free,  for  there  is  nothing  to  limit  his  power. 
But  to  this  freedom  there  is  no  volition,  no  act  of  self- wil- 
ling. It  consists  only  in  eternally  unfolding  his  owa 
essential  being,  without  obstruction  or  restraint. 

2.  He  has  infinite  extension,  and  yet  that  implies  no- 
thing material.  It  is  rather  pure  abstract  extension.  A 
power  in  posse,  and  not  necessarily  carried  out  into  act. 

3.  God  is  eternally  thinking,  and  yet  without  ideas, 
without  the  flow  of  consciousness,  without  understanding  in 
its  ordinary  meaning.  Again,  as  he  unites  in  himself  both 
subject  and  object,  the  being  thinking  and  thought  upon, 
his  only  object  of  contemplation  can  be  himself. 

4.  He  is  not  a  creating  god,  but  he  is  being  itself,  an 
unchangeable  essence,  underlying  all  phenomena.  As 
being,  and  the  subject  of  necessary  development,  he  has 
attributes;  and  these  attributes  are  two  in  number  and 
both  infinite,  as  they  are  only  modifications  of  the  same 
infinite  substance.  These  attributes  are  infinite  thought 
and  infinite  extension.  These  attributes  involve  an  infi- 
nite number  of  finite  determinations,  and  these  determina- 
tions constitute  the  phenomenal  world. 

Thus  the  god  of  Spinoza  is  exhibited  under  two  aspects : 
1.  As  the  eternal  substance,  the   natura  naturans,  the 
absolute,  containing  all  things  potentially  in  his  own  infi- 
nite nature.^ 


> 
< 


^Lewes,  398. 


'Leims,  40A.    ""MoreU,!^!. 
VI]  \^ 


.  if 


a 


380 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


331 


2.  As  this  same  substance  in  actual  development,  the 
natura  naturata,  absolute  being,  expanding  itself  into  an 
infinite  number  of  finite  determinations,  embracing  all  the 
modifications  of  thought  and  extension  which  the  universe 
presents.  Thus  everything  is  a  mode  of  God's  attribute  of 
extension ;  every  thought,  of  his  attribute  of  thought. 

Thus  body  and  soul  are  one  and  the  same  thing,  only 
viewed  under  difterent  attributes.  Mind  is  the  same  as 
body,  only  being  viewed  under  tlic  attribute  of  thought,  it 
is  regarded  as  mind.*  Tliat  which  in  one  point  of  view  is 
bodily  motion,  in  another  is  an  act  of  thought.  Between 
the  world  of  bodily  things  and  that  of  ideas,  reigns  the 
most  perfect  parallelism. 

But  while  body  and  soul  are  regarded  as  different  attri- 
butes of  the  same  substance,^  individual  beings  are  compre- 
hended under  the  conception  of  accidents  or  modes,  these 
latter  being  only  the  changing  forms  of  substance.  The 
finite  has  no  existence  as  such,  only  as  a  mode  of  the  infi- 
nite. And  yet  substance  is  not  regarded  as  being  made 
up  of  modes. 

Spinoza  reckons  two  ways  of  knowledge  :  the  imagina- 
tion, and  the  reason.  To  the  former  belong  experience, 
and  all  that  is  abstract,  superficial,  and  confused.^  To  the 
latter,  the  collection  of  all  fitting  ideas.  The  former  iso- 
lates and  individualizes,  while  the  latter  comprehends  things 
in  their  unity.  Hence  mere  accidents  or  modes  are  viewed 
by  the  former  as  things,  by  the  latter  simply  as  modes  of 
the  one  eternal  substance. 

The  morals  and  politics  of  Spinoza  flowed  directly  from 
his  metaphysics,  and  were  in  harmony  with  his  general 
system.  There  could  obviously,  upon  his  principle,  be 
no  such  thing  as  free  will,  as  man  is  only  a  mode,  and 
hence,  like  every  other,  a  link  in  the  chain  of  causes 
eternally  conditioning  each  other.  Good  and  evil  are 
not  qualities  in  the  things  themselves,  but  only  express 


'  JSchwegle,  188.    *  Idem,  189.    '  Idem,  189. 


I 


t 


relative  conceptions  formed  from  a  comparison  of  things 
with  each  other.^ 

As  the  absolute  being,  the  god  of  Spinoza  can  exercise 
no  volition,  he  can  give  birth  to  no  law;  and  hence,  in  no 
moral  sense,  can  there  be  such  a  thing  as  evil  or  sin. 
Hence  Spinoza  defines  good  to  be  that  which  is  useful  to 
us ;  and  evil  that  which  hinders  us  from  partaking  of  a 
good.  Again,  "that  is  only  useful  to  us  which  aids  us  in 
knowing,  as  our  true  being  is  knowledge." 

In  politics  he  maintained  that  everything  which  is  com- 
monly designated  by  the  name  of  rights  is  reduced  to  the 
notion  of  force,^  and  that  justice  relatively  to  each  being, 
can  be  conceived  only  as  the  measure  of  his  power.  As 
all  idea  of  volition,  of  free  will,  of  law,  is  utterly  excluded 
from  his  system,  it  would  necessarily  follow  that  right 
could  be  the  only  correlate  of  power,  and  could  never  be 
really  violated  except  by  a  deficiency  of  might.  This  would 
lead  to  the  inevitable  result,  the  only  one  his  system  could 
tolerate,  viz :  the  object  of  all  government  is  the  exercise 
of  force,  and  all  law  is  limitation. 

Thus  we  have  the  extremes  of  sensualism  and  idealism ; 
the  one  represented  by  Hobbes,  the  other  by  Spinoza, 
meeting  in  their  politics,  each  being  results  of  their  difierent 
systems.^  The  first  sets  out  from  the  diversity  of  human 
individuals  as  naturally  hostile,  the  second  from  their 
absolute  identity.  The  first  excludes  from  his  social  theory 
all  notion  of  the  infinite  element,  the  ground  of  the  principle 
of  moral  obligation;  the  second,  all  notion  of  finite  beings, 
subjects  of  these  obligations.  The  result  was  that  both 
were  compelled  by  their  respective  systems  to  construct 
the  politics  of  force,  which  in  the  system  of  Hobbes  cul- 
minated in  pure  despotism ;  in'  that  of  Spinoza,  in  pure 
anarchy. 

The  way  was  now  thoroughly  prepared  for  Hume.  The 
Baconian  philosophy  had  achieved  its  two  possible  limits, 


'  Schweglc,  190.    '  IliHtory  of  Philosophy,  ii,  76.    '  Idem,  76. 


332 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


333 


materialigm,  and  idealistic  sensualism.  The  Cartesian  had 
also  reached  its  two  limits,  that  of  seeing  all  things  in  God, 
and  that  of  seeing  God  in  all  things.  Both  were  idealistic 
limits,*  for  Spinoza  expressly  teaches  that  the  subjective 
idea  is  the  actual  image  or  complete  expression  of  the  ob- 
jective fact;  that  the  order  and  connection  of  ideas  is 
precisely  the  order  and  connection  of  things.  The  one, 
therefore,  having  buried  itself  in  realism,  and  the  other  in 
idealism,  we  must  invoke  the  skepticism  of  Hume  to  erect 
their  monuments. 


Skepticism  —  Hume.     Monadology  —  Lcihnitz. 

David  Hume  was  a  Scotcliman,  born  at  Edinburgh  in 
1711,  and  died  in  1776.  He  followed  in  the  wake  of  Berke- 
ley and  was  the  precursor  of  Kant.  His  connection  with 
idealism  is  twofold  :  1.  In  the  method  of  philosophizing, 
viz :  by  deduction.  2.  In  the  abolition  of  that  ego  out  of 
which  arises  the  subjective  standpoint  of  its  philosophy. 

His  connection  with  sensualism  is  also  twofold :  1.  In 
his  starting  point,  and  in  his  derivation  from  it  all  there  is 
of  the  positive  in  his  philosophy,  all  except  his  negations. 
3.  In  the  abolition  of  that  material  universe,  out  of  which 
arises  the  objective  stand  point  of  its  philosophy. 

According  to  Hume,  all  our  representations  are  either 
sensuous  impressions  or  their  copies.  Their  only  distinc- 
tion is  in  degree,  according  as  they  are  stronger  or  weaker, 
more  or  less  lively.^  Those  existing  in  the  strongest  de- 
gree, being  the  liveliest,  are  the  impressions  themselves; 
the  weaker  are  the  thoughts  or  ideas.  The  impressions 
are  the  originals,  the  ideas  are  the  copies,  and  the  latter, 
without  exception,  are  daluced  from  the  former.  There 
is  no  idea  that  did  originate  from  an  impression,  and  hence 
the  idea  must  be  related  to  the  impression  as  the  copy  to 
the  original.     The  explanation  of  tlie  idea,  therefore,  con- 


sists in  showing  its  impression,  as  our  impressions  are  the 
originals  of  all  our  representations.  Thus,  according  to 
Hume,  the  wliole  fabric  of  knowledge  is  to  be  built  out  of 
impressions  and  ideas,  and  no  idea  is  to  be  received  that 
cannot  be  traced  to  an  impression. 

This  constituted  the  positive,  the  dogmatic  portion  of  his 
philosophy,  at  least  according  to  his  own  view  of  it,  and  in 
this  respect  he  appears  as  the  systematizer  of  experience. 
But  otily  grant  to  him  the  truth  of  what  he  thus  posits 
with  so  much  apparent  plausibility.  His  deductions  will 
lead  logically  to  the  annihilation  of  the  material  universe ; 
of  the  thinking  subject;  of  the  relation  of  cause  and  effect, 
and  through  that,  of  all  knowledge. 

He  found  the  material  world  already  annihilated.  That 
had  been  the  mission  of  Berkeley.  It  also  followed  as  a  clear 
deduction  from  his  own  positions.  There  is  nothing  exist- 
ing but  impressions  and  ideas,  the  latter  being  derived 
from,  and  copies  of  the  former.  The  material  universe,  if  it 
exist  at  all,  must  lie  behind  the  impressions,  and  must  fur- 
nish the  originals  of  which  the  latter  must  be  copies.  Of 
the  existence  of  these  there  is  not  a  particle  of  proof.  But 
supposing  there  are,  by  possibility,  such  originals,  a  know- 
ledge of  them  would  only  become  possible,  if  clear  impres- 
sions of  them  existed  in  ourselves.^  But  how  can  we 
know  this?  We  can  only  know  it  by  means  of  an  impres- 
sion, and  there  is  none  that  decides  on  the  clearness  of 
an  impression,  or  the  relation  between  an  impression  and 
a  thing.  There  is,  therefore,  no  criterion  which  can  secure 
the  objectivity  of  our  ideas.  If,  therefore,  there  be  any 
knowledge,  its  objects  are  only  ideas,  w^hich  themselves 
are  nothing  but  copies  of  impressions.  Thus  we  only  com- 
prehend our  impressions,  not  the  objective  nature  of 
things.     There  can,  therefore,  be  no  objective  knowledge. 

This  was  the  sensual istic  phase  of  his  reasoning.  But 
the  rationalistic  was  substantially  of  the  same  character. 


*  Lewes,  411.    '  Mmhei\  4C9. 


*  Fischer,  470. 


834 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


335 


and  resulted  in  the  negation  of  the  thinking  subject.  Of 
that  subject  there  couhl  be  no  impression,  and  hence  no 
idea.  All  that  we  have  any  experience  of,  is  impressions 
and  ideas."  ^  The  substance  of  which  these  are  supposed  to 
be  impressions,  is  a  mere  inference.  The  substance  in 
which  these  impressions  are  supposed  to  be,  is  a  mere 
inference.  Matter  is  but  a  collection  of  impressions. 
Mind  is  but  a  succession  of  impressions  and  ideas."  In 
accordance  with  this  doctrine,  philosophy  has  thus  written 
the  epitaph  inscribed  upon  the  tomb  of  Hume: 

Beneath  this  round  idea  vulgarly  called  touib, 

Rest  the  ideas  and  impressions  that  constituted  Ilunic. 

But  there  was  still  another  deduction,  which  he  made 
from  his  positions,  which  constitutes  his  theory  of  causa- 
tion. In  accordance  with  his  system,  lie  asks  what  is  the 
impression  of  which  the  idea  of  causality  is  a  copy?  He 
claims  that  every  impression  is  a  fact  that  we  perceive, 
bat  that  the  connection  between  facts  we  do  not  perceive. 
There  is  no  impression  the  copy  of  which  could  be  the 
idea  of  causality.  We  have  no  other  experience  of  causa- 
tion than  simply  that  of  a  constant  succession.  We  have 
an  antecedent  and  a  consequent,  and  that  is  all.  We  do, 
indeed,  attribute  to  the  antecedent  a  power  of  causing  the 
consequent,  but  we  have  no  experience,  no  idea  of  such  a 
power.  We  can  never  perceive  any  quality  that  binds  the 
effect  to  the  cause,  and  renders  the  one  an  infallible  conse- 
quence to  the  other.  We  only  find  that  the  one  does  in 
fact  follow  the  other.  This  is  the  whole  that  appears  to 
the  outward  senses.  The  mind  feels  no  sentiment  or 
inward  impression  from  this  succession  of  objects.  Conse- 
quently there  is  not,  in  any  single  instance  of  cause  and 
effect,  anything  which  can  suggest  the  idea  of  power  or 
necessary  connection. 


Bacon  placed  all  knowledge  in  the  knowledge  of  causes, 
and  it  is  quite  obvious  that  therein  is  garnered  up  all  em- 
pirical knowledge.  We  are  driven  to  this  dilemma  by 
Hume,  viz :  either  to  give  up  as  impossible,  and  regard  as 
utterly  incomprehensible,  all  our  empirical  knowledge  to- 
gether with  causality,  or  we  must  deduce  this  idea  from  an 
impression.     But  this  impression  is  nowhere  given. 

But  our  belief  in  the  existence  of  the  power  is  admitted 
by  Hume.  What  then  is  the  foundation  of  that  belief? 
It  is  custom,  habit.  And  thus  Hume  solves  the  problem 
of  knowledge.^  All  human  knowledge  is  either  demonstra- 
tive, as  in  the  case  of  mathematics,  or  empirical.  All 
empirical  knowledge  consists  in  the  causal  connection  of 
facts.  The  idea  of  causalty  is  founded  on  a  belief,  this 
belief  upon  a  feeling,  this  feeling  upon  a  habit,  which  itself 
consists  in  nothing  else  than  an  oft  repeated  experience. 
Consequently,  there  is  no  knowledge  that  is  objective  and 
necessary.  Thus  beyond  experience  there  can  be  no 
knowledge  whatever,  and  within  experience  it  is  limited  by 
custom  and  habit.  And  these  latter  can  never  prove. 
They  only  induce  belief  They  are  the  basis  of  all  human 
thought  and  action.  Hence  Hume  calls  custom  "  the  great 
guide  of  human  life."  What  Schiller  puts  into  the  mouth 
of  Wallenstein  very  clearly,  in  this  respect,  expresses  the 
philosophy  of  Hume : 

What  we  have  most  to  dread 
Is  common  place,  perpetual  yesterday, 
That  ever  warning,  ever  still  returns ; 
Potent  to-morrow,  through  its  force  to-day, 
For  man  of  common  places  is  compact, 
And  to  his  nurse  the  name  of  custom  gives. 

Hume's  philosophy  had,  however,  at  least  one  positive 
result;  a  result  that  did  not  consist  in  negation.  By  thus 
giving  effect  to  the  force  of  custom,  he  renders  man  a 


^LeweSf  481. 


'  Fischer,  478. 


336 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


creature  of  history.     What  Walleiisteiii  is  again  made  to 

say : 

There  is  a  sanctifying  power  in  years 
What  age  has  rendered  gray,  appears  divine. 

He  therefore  attacks  the"  social  contract"  doctrine  pro- 
pounded by  Ilobbes  and  Rousseau,  as  the  foundation  of 
society  and  government.  Such  a  coiitract,  according  to 
Hume,  is  opposed  to  all  historical  experience  and  possibility. 
In  order  to  have  any  validity,  it  must  presuppose  a  human 
community,  or  some  form  of  existence  similar  to  a  state.^ 
Before  men  could  have  been  united  by  an  express  contract 
they  must  already  have  been  united  by  necessity.  Hence 
in  the  place  of  a  contract  Hume  puts  custom. 

It  has  been  shown  by  Dr.  Fischer  that  in  regard  to  the 
matter  of  custom  Hume  reasoned  in  a  circle.  "  How,  "  he 
asks,  "did  Hume  explain  experience?  By  the  idea  of 
causality,^  which  connects  our  impressions.  And  how 
how  did  he  explain  this  idea?  By  custom.  And  how 
this?  By  oft  repeated  experience.  Thus  Hume  explains 
experience  by  experience.  He  presupposes  what  he  has 
to  explain.  He  therefore  thinks  dogmatically,  and  com- 
mits the  very  ftiult  which  the  skeptics  of  antiquity  had 
remarked  in  the  dogmatic  philosophers." 

Whatever  there  is  of  the  positive  in  Hume's  philosophy 
flows  from  his  negations.  In  politics,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  he  would  ground  everything  upon  custom.  He  is 
an  enemy  to  all  revolutions,  as  they  come  to  a  direct 
rupture  with  custom.  All  forms  of  government  rest  upon 
usage.  Even  hoary  abuses  are  sanctioned  by  custom. 
Hence  he  was  consistently  a  tory  in  politics. 

His  moral  philosophy  bears  traces  of  the  same  origin. 
There  being  in  the  universe  nothing  but  impressions  and 
ideas,  would  exclude  the  existence  of  a  God.  Besides,  the 
only  possible  method  and  that  of  very  doubtful  success  by 


Fischer,  480.    '  Idem,  494. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


837 


which  the  empirical  philosophy  can  claim  to  prove  the 
existence  of  a  supreme  being,  is  by  carrying  out  his  system 
of  inductive  reasoning,  and  thus  arriv^ing  at  God  as  the 
last  generalization  of  cause.  But  Hume  denies  the  exist- 
ence of  any  cause  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  used  in  the 
empirical  philosophy,  viz  :  as  a  power  in  one  thing  or 
being  to  produce  another.  Thus  the  existence  of  God  is 
etfectually  negatived. 

Nor  is  the  doctrine  of  immortality  less  effectually  dis- 
posed of.  As  there  is  nothing  existing  but  impressions 
and  ideas,  what  is  termed  the  soul,  or  spiritual  part,  must 
be  made  up  of  them  entirely.  But  all  these  are  evanescent. 
They  fade  away  and  disappear.  They  come  and  go  in 
succession,  and  hence  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  im- 
mortality. 

The  negation  of  God,  and  immortality,  and  the  limita- 
tion of  all  existence  to  impressions  and  ideas,  necessarily 
destroys  all  high  moral  sources,  and  dwarfs  morality  itself, 
to  that  which  is  little,  if  at  all,  elevated  above  mere  expe- 
diency. As  man's  entire  being  is  limited  necessarily 
within  the  sphere  of  sensations,^  he  can  have  no  other 
reasonable  motive  of  action,  than  the  notion  of  his  own 
personal  interest;  and,  as  the  idea  of  virtue  implies  some- 
thing distinct  from  selfishness,  it  can  have  no  principle  in 
the  intelligence.  Virtue  can  proceed  only  from  a  senti- 
ment destitute  of  all  rational  motive,  and  which  Hume 
considers  analogous  to  taste.  But  even  this  sentiment, 
on  his  system,  can  have  no  foundation  which  the  reason 
can  conceive,  and  hence,  the  only  resource  here,  is  skep- 
ticism. 

As  to  free  will,  as  a  moral  element,  going  to  experience, 
we  feel  very  clearly  that  we  will,  but  we  feel  nothing  fur- 
ther.    Internal  experience,  which  establishes  the  fact  of 


^History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  47. 
VI]  43 


90U 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION 


volition,  can  teach  us  nothing  in  regard  to  the  origin  of 
the  fact  whicli  is  attributed  to  a  free  power. 

There  is  another  objection  to  freedom  of  will  which  can 
be  urged  by  the  sensualistic  philosophy,  but  not  by  Hume, 
viz :  that  the  notion  of  freedom  itself  is  contradictory  in 
this,  that  a  free  choice  is  not  possible  without  motives ;  and 
every  determining  motive,  is,  in  the  last  analysis,  only  a 
stronger  sensation,  which  necessarily  constrains  the  will. 
As  this  wall  be  perceived  to  include  the  idea  of  cause,  of 
efficient  power  to  produce,  it  cannot,  of  course,  be  available 

to  Hume. 

The  system  of  Hume  brings  us  to  the  termination  of  one 
great  cycle  in  the  history  of  philosophy.  It  lasts  from 
about  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth,  to  near  the  middle 
of  the  eighteenth  century.  During  this  period,  sensual- 
ism, from  its  objective  stand  point,  and  with  its  inductive 
method,  had  marched  onward,  giving  origin,  efficiency, 
and  reliability,  to  the  physical  sciences ;  sowing  its  path- 
way with  evidences  of  man's  achievements  in  overcoming 
the  obstacles  interposed  by  nature,  by  the  subdued  powers 
and  agencies  which  nature  herself  affi^rded ;  until,  in  one 
extreme  it  merged  psychology  in  physiology,  mind  in 
matter,  ending  in  a  pure  and  imbruted  materialism ; 
while  in  the  other,  it  shook  off  the  material  world,  and 
sought  a  refuge  in  idealistic  sensation. 

On  the  other  side,  idealism  from  its  subjective  stand 
point,  and  with  its  deductive  method,  had  also  marched 
onward,  exhibiting  as  its  trophies,  the  mathematics  greatly 
enlarged,  improved,  and  rendered  susceptible  of  new  appli- 
cations, and  a  deductive  logic  in  exercise  clear,  vigorous 
and  conclusive;  until  mind,  unable  to  lean  on  matter,  had 
wandered  away  into  the  depths  of  pantheism,  and  finally 
found  its  grave  in  the  skepticism  of  Hume.  Thus  these 
two  great  systems  had  each  accomplished  its  destined  work, 
and  they  had  been  enabled  to  do  so  by  working  separately 
and  independent  of  each  other.     Neither  had  accomplished 


■• 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


339 


anything  in  the  way  of  self-explanation.     Each  had  ran  its 
cycle  of  effort,  and  ended  either  as  it  began,  or  worse. 
The  riddle  had  only  become  deeper  and  more  inexplica- 
ble, with  all  the  attempts  to  explain  it.     But  while  each 
line  of  effort  was  thus  barren  and  unproductive  in  its  own 
self-explication,  its  outcrops  were  everywhere  fruitful,  and 
everywhere  furnishing  evidence  of  progress.     The  sciences, 
both  physical  and  exact,  or  mathematical,  had  taken  their 
points  of  departure  from  each  line  of  march,  opening  up 
long  vistas  to  the  delighted  vision,  and  furnishing  unfail- 
ing supplies  to  human  civilization.     Thus,  again,  as  in  the 
cycle  that  closed  the  irregular  and  more  unsystematic  efforts 
at  thinking  of  the  middle  ages,  we  find  in  the  bare  efforts  of 
philosophy  at  self-explication,  nothing  but  a  scaffolding, 
upon  and   by  means  of  which,  other,  and  enduring  struc- 
tures, have  been  reared.    While  the  structures  are  received, 
the  scaffolding  is  knocked  away,  and  consigned  to  oblivion. 
It  is  easy  now  in  the  light  of  history  to  detect  the  reason 
why  each  one  of  these  systems  has  accomplished  so  little 
for  itself     It  was  because  each  adopted,  and  throughout 
adhered  to,  its  own  principle,  stand  point  and  method ; 
claiming  its  sufficiency  to  explain  itself  and  everything 
else.      But    each    principle,    stand   point,   and    method, 
although  containing  the  truth,  yet  did  not  contain  all  the 
truth,  and  hence  when  put  forward  as  containing  all,  be- 
came error.     Thus   each  being  in  point  of  fact,  narrow, 
partial,  and  one-sided,  but  at  the  same  time  claiming  to 
be  broad,  entire,  and  complete,  in  its  expositions,  failed  as 
a  necessary  consequence. 

Again,  between  each  there  was  at  the  commencement, 
and  continued  through  the  entire  course,  to  be  a  fatal 
dualism.  They  were  entirely  unlike  and  opposite  in  prin- 
ciple, stand  point,  and  method,  and  neither  contained  within 
itself  any  resources  by  which  to  pass  over  and  include  the 
other.  As  there  is  confessedly  truth  in  each,  but  that 
only  partial,  limited,  one-sided;  and  as  each  when  fully 


MM 


% 


340 


IIISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


carried  out,  and  having  all  its  interior  principles  developed, 
ends  where  it  began  and  accomplishes  nothing  for  itself, 
it  is  obvious  that  the  line  of  effort  must  be  changed  in 
order  to  its  becoming  productive. 

And  that  line  of  effort  is  accordingly  changed.  Hitherto 
we  have  witnessed  sensualism  and  idealism,  each  with  its 
separate  and  independent  lines  of  effort,  working  out  in 
its  own  way  its  results,  and  ending  where  it  began.  Each 
now  having  all  its  principles  brought  out  and  fully  deve- 
loped, what  now  remains  is  to  reconcile  each  with  the 
other,  and  to  construct  a  philosophy  of  such  breadth  and 
comprehensiveness,  as  to  embrace  and  include  all  the  true 
and  living  principles  in  each,  in  such  a  manner  as  that 
each  principle  shall  have  assigned  its  appropriate  place,  and 
all  shall,  in  the  end  interpenetrate,  coalesce,  and  harmonize 
with  each  other.  Such  is  hereafter  to  be  the  line  of  effort, 
and  the  completion  of  some  future  cycle  in  the  history  of 
philosophy  will,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  witness  its  accomplishment. 
•  Even  the  mind  of  the  great  Lord  Bacon  reached  forw^ard 
and  anticipated  these  different  philosophies.  He  saw 
clearly  the  error  both  of  the  pure  sensualists  and  the  pure 
rationalists,  and  thus  characterizes  them  by  a  happy  com- 
parison. The  empirics,  who  derive  everything  from  sensa- 
tion,  he  compares  to  the  ant,  which,  by  an  ever  busy 
industry  employs  itself  in  heaping  up  and  using  what  it 
finds.  These  are  the  philosophers  wlio  never  rise  above 
what  they  receive  through  sense.  The  rationalists  he  com- 
pares to  the  spider,  which,  resorting  to  nothing  exterior  to 
itself,  spins  its  web  out  of  its  own  bowels.  These  are  the 
philosophers  who  deal  in  k  prions,  who  ignore  facts  and 
experiences,  and  resort  to  the  pure  reason  alone.  The  true 
philosophers  he  compares  to  the  bee,  which  gathers  mate- 
rial from  all  flowers,  and  by  a  power  within  itself,  changes 
its  character,  and  converts  it  into  honey. 

The  line  of  effort  just  referred  to  has  been  hitherto  de- 
veloping itself  in  three  different  directions ;  and  has  eu- 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


341 


listed  in  its  prosecution  three  orders  of  mind,  three  different 
nationalities.  These  are  the  German,  Scottish,  and  French. 
The  German  gives  us  monadology  and  the  critical  phi- 
losophy; the  Scottish,  the  school  of  common  sense;  and  the 
French,  the  eclectic. 

Of  these  the  first  in  order  is  the  monadology  of  Leibnitz, 
and  as  this  precedes  the  skepticism  of  Hume,  it  will  be 
proper  to  give  it  the  first  consideration,  following  it  up  with 
the  Scottish,  German,  and  French  schools,  or  systems  of 
philosophy. 

Gottfried  William  Leibnitz  was  born  at  Leipsic  in  1646, 
and  died  in  1716.  He  was  the  contemporary  of  Locke, 
Malebranche  and  Spinoza,  immediately  succeeding  Bacon 
and  Descartes.  His  life  was,  therefore,  cast  in  a  period 
when  the  elements  both  of  the  sensualistic,  and  idealistic 
systems  of  philosophy  were  in  state  of  intense  activity,  but 
previously  to  their  final  results  being  worked  out  in  the 
materialistic  schools  of  France,  and  the  skepticism  of 
Berkeley  and  Hume.  But  at  this  early  period  he  conceived 
the  idea  of  a  broader  and  more  complete  philosophy  which 
should  unite  and  harmonize  the  two  systems.  In  the  order 
of  time  he  is  the  first  great  German  philosopher,  possessing 
a  mind  of  vast  capacity,  and  whose  thoughts  have  largely 
influenced  all  subsequent  thinking. 

Leibnitz  entirely  differed  from  Locke  in  his  position  that 
there  is  nothing  in  the  understanding  which  did  not  first 
pass  through  the  senses,  claiming  that  there  was  the  under- 
standing itself,  the  innate  faculty  of  forming  ideas,  and 
also  necessary  truths  both  in  mathematics  and  philosophy,^ 
that  were  never  derived  from  experience;  and  that  these 
were  the  primary  sources  or  elements  of  human  knowledge. 

He  also  dittered  from  Descartes  principally  in  this,  that 
the  former  had  limited  himself  to  giving  extension  as  the 


'Morell,U7. 


Mali 


342 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


only  essential  quality  of  bodies,  assuming  that  the  natural 
state  of  bodies  was  that  of  repose,  and  that  motion  came 
not  from  the  activity  of  any  internal  principle,  but  from 
forces  acting  without.  The  great  principle  of  Leibnitz,  on 
the  contrary,  and  that  which  lay  at  the  foundation  of  all 
Ms  philosophy,^  was  that  "  one  substance  cannot  receive 
from  any  other  the  power  of  acting,  but  that  the  whole 
force  is  preexistent  in  itself." 

Setting  out  from  the  necessary  laws  of  the  understand- 
ing, he  claimed  that  all  philosophical  trutli  must  arise  from 
the  analysis  of  the  primary  ideas  they  involve,  and  that 
the  pure  k  priori  conceptions  of  the  reason  are  the  only 
ideas  which  are  adequate  to  the  full  expression  of  the  ob- 
jective reality  to  which  they  answer.  The  ideas  derived 
through  the  senses  are  contingent,  limited,  confused,  and 
inadequate.  To  distinguish  those  of  the  pure  reason  from 
those  of  the  senses  he  proposed,  as  a  test  of  the  former, 
the  principle  of  identity  and  contradiction,  and  of  the 
later,  that  of  sufficient  reason.  By  the  first,  he  proposed 
to  test  all  those  ideas  which  arise  from  the  necessary  laws 
of  thought ;  and  by  the  last,  everything  relating  to  the  con- 
tingencies of  life.  He  means  by  it  the  determination  of 
what  has  the  most  perfect  adaptation  to  bring  about  the 
best  results,  and  then  judge  of  everything  by  its  final  cause. 

Leibnitz  was  a  great  mathematician,  and  investigated 
the  possibility  of  a  universal  language,  which  might  repre- 
sent the  discoveries  in  art  and  science  in  much  the  same 
way  that  arithmetical  and  algebraic  signs  express  the  pro- 
portions of  numbers.  His  speculations  in  philosophy  are 
principally  embraced  in  his  monadology,  his  preestablished 
harmony,  and  his  optimism. 

MoNADOLoaY,  the  doctrine  of  monads,  was  at  its  founda- 
tion, an  hypothesis,  but  unfortunately  one  not  susceptible 


Morelli  147. 


EUIIOPE  —  ITS  IMIILOSOPIIY. 


343 


of  verification.  The  object  of  its  author  was  to  account, 
by  means  of  it,  for  the  actual  phenomena  of  the  universe. 
Descartes  had  given  to  matter  the  property  of  extension, 
and  considered  all  motion  as  communicated,  as,  therefore, 
coming  from  without,  and  hence  making  the  universe  itself 
one  great  mechanism,  and  its  movements  governed  by 
mechanical  laws.  Leibnitz  evoked  a  force  from  within, 
and  governed  its  movements  upon  dynamical  principles. 
Hence  the  origin  of  the  monad. 

The  monad  was  a  simple  being,  indivisible,  unextended, 
immaterial,  and  hence  not  exposed  to  any  influences  from 
without,  and  being  indissoluble,  can  never  perish.  Inas- 
much as  movements  do  take  place  perpetually,  the  force 
must  come  from  within,  and  hence  the  law  that  "all  monads 
must  contain  an  inward  energy,  by  virtue  of  which  they 
develop  themselves  spontaneously." 

The  monads  are  not  all  alike,^  but  each  possesses  its  own 
inward  attributes,  by  virtue  of  which  its  own  particular 
being  is  developed.  Those  w^hich  compose  material  objects 
are  in  a  state  of  stupor,  arising  from  an  undeveloped 
power  of  perception.  Others  are  possessed  of  a  less  or 
greater  power  of  perception  and  consciousness,  indistinct  in 
animals,  but  distinct  in  the  souls  of  men.  God  is  the  one 
absolute,  original  monad,  giving  origin  to  all  the  others, 
and  whose  existence  we  are,  by  the  laws  of  our  being, 
necessitated  to  admit. 

JSTo  one  monad  exerts  any  specific  influence  upon 
another,  and  each  one  is  so  constructed  as  to  imply  multi- 
plicity in  unity.^  All  come  under  the  law  of  change,  and 
each  monad,  to  be  subject  to  this  law,  must  contain  within 
itself  a  plurality  of  susceptibilities,  modifications,  and  rela- 
tions. Each,  therefore,  is  a  microcosm,  a  living  image  of 
the  whole  universe.  Its  internal  principle  of  force  is  sus- 
ceptible of  indefinite  development  and  variation.     As  it  is 


'3foreU,  149.    "  Uistori/  of  PhUosaphij,  u,  84,  85. 


T  M..I'" 


344 


HlSTUllV  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUliOPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


345 


not  composed  of  parts,  such  variation  is  unlimited.  So, 
also,  as  it  is  simple,  its  development  is  without  a  limit.  It 
therefore,  must  contain  within  itself  the  capacity  of  all 
modes  of  possible  being,  and  hence  is  itself  a  representa- 
tive of  the  whole  universe. 

Thus  far  in  the  doctrine  of  the  monads,  it  is  obvious 
that  there  is  no  union  between  the  subjective  and  objec- 
tive. We  have  not  yet  passed  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
subjective.  Onr  path  from  the  subjective  to  the  objective 
is  through  the  al)solute,  original  monad,  God. 

God  Is  a  being  whose  logical  possibility  implies  his 
actual  existence.  He  is  the  prime  monad,  the  unity  of 
unities,^  and  all  the  others  are  produced  by  his  perpetual 
flashings,  as  of  lightning,  and  which  have  no  other  limita- 
tion than  the  receptivity  of  creatures.  The  same  thing  that 
exists  in  created  monads,  exists  without  limits  in  the  un- 
created monad.  As  there  exists  in  monads  a  force  which 
is  the  foundation  of  all  their  activities,  so  there  exists  in 
the  supreme  monad  a  power  which  is  the  source  of  all 
things.  As  there  is  in  each  monad  inward  attributes,  a 
schema  which  determines  their  own  peculiar  character, 
80  there  is  in  the  supreme  monad  a  schema  of  ideas.  And 
as  there  is  in  each  monad  an  internal  appetency  which 
makes  it  pass  from  one  state  to  another,  tending  to  its 
greatest  good,  so  in  the  supreme  monad  is  there  a  good 
will  which  is  moved  by  the  motive  of  the  greatest  good. 

This  hypothesis  of  monads  enabled  Leibnitz  to  find  in 
the  universe  the  most  complete  unity  with  the  most  ex- 
tended variety.^  As  the  evolutions  of  each  monad  were 
adapted  to  those  of  all  the  others,  the  most  perfect  unity 
would  be  the  necessary  result.  But  each  monad,  at  the 
same  time,  by  its  own  internal  constitution,  reflects,  in  its 
own  point  of  view,  the  whole  universe,  there  results  the 
greatest  possible  variety.     The  universe,  though  essentially 


Hist&ry  of  PhUosojyhy,  ii,  89.    *  Idsm,  92. 


.» 


w* 


one,  is  thus  multiplied  by  the  different  points  of  view  fur- 
nished by  the  innumerable  monads.  Thus,  as  a  conse- 
quence of  this,  on  the  one  hand  everything  is  animated, 
since  nothing  exists  but  monads,  whose  very  essence  is 
activity.  On  the  other  hand,  each  monad,  being  in  itself 
the  representative  of  all  nature,  is  constantly  modified  by 
its  internal  activity,  as  if  it  received  the  echo  of  everything 
that  passes  in  the  universe  to  the  farthest  limits  of  creation. 

But  there  was  still  a  difficulty  in  carrying  out  the  mon- 
adological  hypothesis  of  Leibnitz,  which  rendered  necessary 
still  another  hypothesis.  In  the  system  of  Descartes  there 
was  a  fatal  dualism  between  mind  and  matter,  each  being 
referred  to  a  difterent  substance.  This  was  avoided  by 
Leibnitz,  as  he  had  reduced  mind  and  matter  to  the  same 
essence  ;  the  former  being  represented  by  conscious,  and 
the  latter  by  unconscious,  monads.  But  still  the  monads 
composing  matter,  and  those  composing  mind,  differ  to- 
tally from  each  other,  and  the  principle  had  long  been 
acknowledged  that  two  substances  entirely  differing  from 
each  other,  can  exert  no  mutual  influence.^  Hence  each  order 
of  monads,  the  mental  and  the  material,  must  be  held  to 
contain  the  laws  of  its  own  development,  and  to  fulfill  its 
own  purposes  independent  of  the  other.  To  connect  the 
two  together  he  was,  therefore,  under  the  necessity  of  ori- 
ginating another  hypothesis,  which,  unfortunately,  like 
the  monadological,  was  incapable  of  verification. 

This  was  the  hypothesis  of  the  preestablished  harmony. 
According  to  this  hypothesis,  the  human  mind  and  the  hu- 
man body  are  two  independent,  but  corresponding  machines. 
The  former  consisting  of  self-conscious  monads,  and  the 
latter,  of  aggregations  of  simple  monads ;  each  act  solely 
according  to  their  own  internal  force;  the  former  as  if 
there  were  no  body  in  existence,  and  the  latter,  as  if  there 
were  no  mind.     The  hypothesis  of  Leibnitz  is,  that  there 


'Morell,  150. 
VI] 


44 


346 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


1.  i. 


is  a  preestablished  harmony  of  action  between  the  two. 
"  God,"  he  says,  "  has  created  the  soul  in  sueh  a  manner 
at  first,^  that  it  should  represent  within  itself,  all  the  simul- 
taneous changes  in  the  body;  ^  and  he  has  made  the  body 
also  in  such  a  manner,  as,  that  it  must,  of  itself,  do  what 
the  soul  wills ;  so  that  the  laws,  which  make  the  thoughts 
of  the  soul  follow  each  other  in  regular  succession,  must 
produce  images  which  shall  be  coincident  with  the  impres- 
sions made  by  external  objects  upon  our  organs  of  sense; 
while  the  laws  by  which  the  motions  of  the  body  follow 
each  other  are  likewise  so  coincident  with  the  thoughts  of 
the  soul  as  to  give  to  our  volitions  and  actions,  the  very 
same  appearance  as  if  the  latter  were  really  the  natural 
and  the  necessary  consequence  of  the  former."  Thus,  by 
this  preestablished  harmony,  the  corporeal  world  and  the 
spiritual  world  are  like  two  clocks,^  which,  though  recipro- 
cally independent,  mark  simultaneously  by  the  same  hours, 
in  consequence  of  an  internal  mechanism  in  w^hich  the 
clock  maker  has  realized  his  own  ideas. 

Both  these  hypotheses  naturally  lead  to  a  third,  which 
may,  perhaps,  be  claimed  as  a  result  of  the  other  two  ;  that 
of  optimism,  according  to  which  God  has  brought  into 
being  the  best  possible  order  of  things.  This  position 
brought  him  face  to  face  with  metaphysical,  physical,  and 
moral  evil.  The  possibility  of  evil  he  derives  from  the 
limitation  of  creatures.  Metaphysical  evil,  which  is  the 
imperfection  of  creatures,  must  subsist  in  the  most  perfect 
world,  as  created  things  are  not  susceptible  of  infinite  per- 
fection. It  consists  simply  in  limitation.  Physical  evil, 
or  pain,  is  the  result  of  limitation.  It  is  the  punishment 
of  moral  evil,  and  hence,  conduces  to  good.  It  is  also 
often  in  itself  a  necessary  agent  in  the  production  of  a 
greater  go'od.  As  to  moral  evil,  its  permission  may  be 
the  condition  of  the  greatest  good,  as  it  does  not  follow 


*  LeweSy  459.    ^Eintory  of  PhUosojthy,  ii,  93. 


EUROPE -ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


347 


but  that  the  perfection  of  the  world  absolutely  required 
that  God  should  permit  this  effect  of  the  free  will  of  man. 

He  held  to  a  philosophical  necessity,  as  being  the  only 
kind  of  liberty  which  is  consistent  with  the  preestablished 
order  of  the  universe.  Thus  it  will  be  seen  that  problems, 
the  largest,  most  comprehensive,  and  most  difficult,  occu- 
pied the  mind  of  Leibnitz,  and  his  writings  sowed  the 
seed  of  philosophical  thinking  in  Germany. 

The  teachings  of  his  successor,  Christian  Wolf,  born  1679, 
died  1764,  neither  sought  nor  accomplished  but  little  more 
than  the  reduction  to  system  of  what  Leibnitz  had  left  in  a 
detached  and  fragmentary  condition. 


r 


The  Scottish  School :   Common  Sense  Philosophy  -—  Reid, 

Stewart,  Hamilton, 

The  next  school  we  shall  consider  is  the  Scottish  School, 
that  of  COMMON  SENSE,  which  commences  with  Keid. 

Thomas  Reid  was  born  at  Glasgow,  Scotland,  in  1710. 
He  died  in  1796.  He  was  the  contemporary  of  Condillac, 
Hartley,  Malebranche,  Helvetius,  and  Kant.  And  was, 
therefore,  posterior  to  Bacon,  Locke,  Descartes,  Spinoza, 
Berkeley  and  Hume.  It  was  the  speculations  of  the  two 
last  named,  and  especially  the  latter,  that  gave  origin  to 
Reid  as  a  metaphysician  and  founder  of  the  Scotch  school 
of  common  sense.  Hume  had  conducted  philosophical 
speculation  to  the  very  verge  of  annihilation.  Human 
thought,  under  his  guidance,  had  arrived  at  a  point  where 
nothing  existed  but  impressions  and  their  copies,  ideas.  It 
could  progress  no  further.  It  had,  therefore,  no  other 
alternative  but  to  sound  a  retreat;  and  reexamine  the 
grounds  upon  which  its  positions  had  been  taken,  its  prin- 
ciples laid  down,  its  convictions  adopted  and  its  reasonings 
conducted.  This  it  did  in  Scotland  under  the  auspices  of 
Reid ;  in  Germany,  under  those  of  Kant. 


348 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Although  Eeid  18  entitled  to  the  honor  of  originating  the 
Scottish  school,  generally  known  as  that  of  common  sense  ; 
of  imparting  to  it  some  of  its  peculiar  features,  and  of  in- 
fusing into  it  the  spirit,  which  has  served  as  its  animating 
principle,  yet  the  completion  of  it  as  a  system,  the  perfect- 
ing of  it  as  a  philosophy,  is  due  to  the  more  successful 
efforts  of  other  and  later  men.  The  Scottish  school  more 
than  any  other,  has  had  a  history,  which  will  be  found  de- 
veloped in  the  writings  of  its  principal  representatives, 
Thomas  Reid,  Dugald  Stewart  and  Sir  William  Hamilton. 
It  will  be  perceived  that  one  link  in  this  chain  of  represent- 
ation is  omitted,  viz:  Thomas  Brown.  Dr.Brown  succeeded 
Stewart  in  the  chair  of  moral  philosophy  in  the  University 
of  Edinburgh.^  The  following  exhibits  the  plan  of  his 
arrangement : 


s 


I J 


I 

e 


QD 


d 

0) 


L  A 


'  All  the  variety 

of 
Sensations 


Z  1 


Intellectual 


f  Simple  Suggestion 
• . . .  x 

l^  Relative  Suggestion 


Emotional 


Passions  and 
Desires 


This  idea  of  considering  all  mental  phenomena  as  only 
different  states  of  the  same  thinking  and  feeling  substance, 
called  mind,  is  not  in  accordance  with  the  Scottish 
philosophy,  and  although  popular  at  the  time,  has  never 
since  been  adopted.  Dr.  Brown's  system  can,  therefore, 
hardly  be  considered  as,  in  any  way,  contributing  to  the 


'MoreU,  377. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


349 


formation  of  the  Scottish  school,  and  hence  he  cannot  form 
a  link  in  the  chain  of  its  representatives. 

The  Scottish  school,  as  proclaimed  in  the  writings  of 
Eeid,  Stewart  and  Hamilton,  has  never  received  its  merited 
share  of  attention  from  the  historians  of  philosophy.  The 
writings  of  Eeid  and  Stewart,  especially  of  the  latter,  have 
been  extensively  read  and  studied  in  America,  having  been 
mostly  made  use  of  as  text  books  in  academies  and  colleges. 
And  yet  the  real  merits  of  the  Scottish  school  only  stand 
out  in  their  larger  proportions  in  the  works  of  Sir  William 
Hamilton.  Giving  to  the  subject  of  metaphysical  philo- 
sophy the  long  continued  efforts  of  a  great  and  mature 
mind,  he  has  enabled  this  school  to  command  the  respect, 
and,  to  a  great  extent,  the  confidence  of  the  British  isles, 
while  his  writings  published  at  the  time  of  his  death  have 
given  him  a  commanding  position  on  the  continent  and 
in  America.  His  lectures,  now  issuing  from  the  press, 
give  in  a  more  detailed  and  systematic  form,  the  results 
of  his  reflection,  and  will  bestow  upon  the  school,  to 
which  he  belonged,  a  wider  knowledge,  and  a  more 
enduring  perpetuity. 

The  system   of  philosophy  evolved  from  the  Scottish 
school  is  a  pure  psychology.     It  limits  itself  entirely  to  an 
exposition  of  mental  phenomena.     Its  method  is  one  of 
observation,  a  careful  observation  of  the  facts  of  conscious- 
ness.    With  these  facts  it  begins  and  ends.     Its  peculiar 
mission  appears  to  be  to  develop  and  proclaim  the  truths 
embraced  in  consciousness  ;  to  ascertain  its  limits ;  and  to 
establish  the  conclusiveness  of  its  testimony  as  to  all  those 
things  of  which  it  clearly  speaks.     In  the  fulfillment  of  its 
mission  it  not  only  observes,  but  also  establishes,  in  respect 
to  many  points,  the  limit  of  observation  and  reasoning. 
The  great  and  principal  point  of  distinction  which  serves 
to  separate  it  from  every  other,  and  to  give  it  its  character, 
consists  mainly  in  the  circumstance  that  it  resolves  into 
ultimate  facts  many  things  that  had  previously  presented 
insurmountable  ditliculties  in  their  explanation.     As  an 


I 


4 


350 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


351 


illustration  of  this  statement  take  the  following  principles, 
or  ultimate  facts,  which,  according  to  Reid,  are  the  judg- 
ments of  common  sense  relating  to  contingent  truths  :  ^ 

1.  Everything  which  is  attested  to  me  by  consciousness 
and  the  internal  sense  really  exists. 

2.  The  thoughts  of  which  I  am  conscious  are  thoughts  of 
a  being  whom  I  call  L 

3.  The  things  which  memory  distinctly  recalls  to  me 
really  happened. 

4.  I  am  certain  of  my  personal  identity  from  the  remotest 
period  to  which  my  memory  can  reach. 

5.  Objects  which  I  perceive  by  the  aid  of  my  senses 
really  exist,  and  are  as  I  perceive  them. 

6.  I  exert  some  degree  of  power  upon  my  actions  and 
determinations. 

7.  The  natural  faculties  by  which  I  distinguish  truth 
from  error  are  not  delusive. 

8.  My  fellow  men  are  living  and  intelligent  creatures 

like  myself. 

9.  Certain  expressions  of  countenance,  certain  sounds  of 
the  voice,  and  certain  gestures,  indicate  certain  thoughts 
and  certain  dispositions  of  mind. 

10.  We  have  naturally  some  regard  for  the  testimony  of 
men  in  matters  of  fact,  and  even  for  human  authority  in 
matters  of  opinion. 

11.  Many  events  which  depend  upon  the  free  will  of  our 
fellow  men  may  nevertheless  be  foreseen  with  more  or  less 
probability. 

12.  In  the  order  of  nature,  that  which  is  to  take  place, 
will  probably  resemble  that  which  has  taken  place  in 
similar  circumstances. 

The  Scottish  school  contains  reflectively  the  three  ideas 
which  constitute  the  elements  of  all  human  knowledge, 
viz :  the  finite  mind,  nature,  and  God.  But  it  regards  all 
these   from  an  experimental,   rather  than  an  abstract   or 


History  of  Philosophy,  ii,  147  -  8. 


fundamental  point  of  view,  and  hence  bears  less  of  a 
speculative  character,  and  is  accounted  less  deep  and  pro- 
found in  its  researches.^  It  may,  however,  well  be  doubted 
whether  the  views  it  takes,  which  will  be  found  admirably 
harmonizing  together  in  the  production  of  a  consistent 
whole,  are  not  in  themselves  well  calculated  to  assign  to 
intelligence  its  proper  sphere,  surrounding  it  everywhere 
with  its  proper  limitations.  It  recognizes  philosophy,  in 
its  more  extensive  signification,  to  be  a  knowledge  of 
things  by  their  causes,  while,  in  its  stricter  meaning,  it  is 
confined  to  the  sciences  which  constitute,^  or  hold  imme- 
diately of,  the  science  of  mind.  The  causes  of  philo- 
sophy, those  which  invite  or  compel  to  its  study  are  two 
in  number.  1.  The  necessity  we  feel  to  connect  causes 
with  eflfects.      2.  The  carrying  up  of  all  our  knowledge 

into  unity.' 

Kegarding  all  method  as  a  rational  progress,  a  progress 
towards  an  end ;  and  the  ends  or  final  causes  of  philosophy 
to  be  the  discovery  of  efi&cient  causes;  and  the  generaliza- 
tion of  all  knowledge  into  unity;  it  follows  two  processes 
in  the  development  of  its  principles.     Of  these  we  have 

1.  Analysis  which  decomposes  compounds  into  their 
simple  primary  elements,  which  resolves  effects  into  their 
constituted  causes. 

2.  Synthesis  which  recomposes  the  primary  elements 
into  their  compound,  reconstructs  causes  out  of  their  effects. 
And  the  one  it  considers  as  correlative  of  the  other. 

It  makes  of  psychology,  or  the  philosophy  of  mind,  a 
threefold  division,  viz:  1.  Phenomena,  in  general.  2.  Laws. 
3.  Inferences;  results.  It  asks  of  philosophy  a  response  to 
three  questions,  viz :  1.  What  are  the  facts  or  phenomena 
to  be  observed  ?  2.  "What  are  the  laws  which  regulate 
these  facts,  or  under  which  these  phenomena  appear?  3. 
What  are  the  real  results  which  these  facts  or  phenomena 
warrant  us  in  drawing  ? 


' Morell,  399.    ' Ilamllton,  45.    ''  Idem,  46. 


352 


mSTUlli  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


353 


There  are  also  subdivisions  of  these,  which  will  appear 
from  the  following  tabular  view  of  the  distribution  of  phi- 
losophy : 

"  Cognitions 
Feelings 


OQ 
OQ 

OQ 
P 
O 

o 

!^     1   ^ 


ft 

5 


Fact% 
Phenomenology 

Empirical 
Psychology 


Laws 
Homology 
Rational 
Psychology 


>■  < 


V  < 


Conative  Powers  —  Will 
and  Desire 


Cognitions  —  Logic 
Feelings  —  ^Esthetic 

C  Moral  Philosophy 


Conative   Powers 


[  Political  Philosophy 


Results 
Ontology 
Inferential 
Psychology  J 


f  Being  of  God 


>-  -< 


^  Immortality  of  the  soul,  etc. 


This  is  the  division  proposed  by  Sir  William  Hamilton,^ 
the  previous  divisions  having  been  generally  either  into  the 
theoretical  and  practical,  or  the  speculative  and  practical. 

The  first  important  position  taken  by  the  Scottish  school, 
and  it  is  one  that  interpenetrates,  and  lies  at  the  founda- 
tion of  all  its  philosophy,  is  that  all  knowledge  is  relative, 
that  we  know  nothing  absolute,  nothing  existing  absolutely, 
nothing  either  of  mind  or  matter  except  as  it  has  relation 
to  human  faculties.^  All,  therefore,  that  we  do  or  can 
know  is  existence  in  certain  special  forms  or  modes,  and 
these,  likewise,  only  in  so  far  as  they  may  be  analogous  to 
our  faculties.  It  holds  that  all  knowledge  is  only  relative  : 
"  1.  Because  existence  is  not  cognizable  absolutely  and  in 


itself,^  but  only  in  special  modes.  2.  Because  the  modes 
can  be  known  only  if  they  stand  in  a  certain  relation  to 
our  faculties.  3.  Because  the  modes,  thus  relative  to 
our  faculties,  are  presented  to,  and  known  by,  the  mind 
only  under  modifications  determined  by  these  faculties 
themselves." 

There  are,  therefore,  two  opposite  series  of  expressions : 
1.  Those  which  denote  the  relative  and  the  known.  2. 
Those  which  denote  the  absolute  and  the  unknown.  To 
the  first  belong  phenomenon,  mode,  modification,  state, 
quality,  property,  attribute,  accident.  To  the  latter,  sub- 
ject, substance,  substratum. 

Existence  may  have  a  thousand  modes,  and  yet  they  can 
be  nothing  to  us  unless  we  possess  faculties  accommodated 
to  their  apprehension.  But  even  if  we  were  endowed  with 
faculties  to  apprehend  these  thousand  modes,  still  would 
our  whole  knowledge  be,  as  it  is  at  present,  only  of  the 
relative.  We  should  still  only  apprehend  existence  in  cer- 
tain special  modes,  in  certain  relations  to  our  faculties  of 
knowledge.  It  is  these  modes  that  are  known  under  the 
names  of  qualities,  properties,  accidents,  phenomena, 
manifestations,  appearances,  and  so  forth,  while  the  un- 
known ground,  wliich  aflTords  them  support,  is  termed  their 
substance  or  subject. 

Having  established  the  relativity  of  all  knowledge,  this 
philosophy  next  proceeds  to  a  distribution  of  mental  phe- 
nomena, to  a  classification  of  the  powers  and  faculties  of 
the  mind.  In  this  respect  it  has  a  history,  has  made  a 
progress.  Reid's  classification  —  and  it  is  substantially 
the  one  adopted  by  Stewart  —  is  the  following:  1.  The 
powers  we  have  by  means  of  our  external  senses.  2.  Me- 
mory. 3.  Conception.  4.  The  powers  of  resolving  and 
analyzing  complex  objects,  and  compounding  those  that 
are  more  simple.  5.  Judging.  6.  Reasoning.  7.  Taste. 
8.  Moral  perception ;  and  last  of  all,  consciousness. 


'  EamUton,  88.    "  Idem,  96.  107. 


^IlamiUon,  104. 
VI] 


46 


354 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


The  later  and  l)ctter  considered  distribution  under  Sir 
William  Hamilton,  assumes  consciousness  as  the  founda- 
tion of  all  mental  phenomena,  and  identities  what  are 
denominated  powers  or  faculties  of  mind,  as  so  many 
special  modifications  under  which  it  is  manifested. 

This  philosophy,  under  the  lead  of  Sir  William  Hamil- 
ton, investigates  consciousness  with  all  the  lights  which 
itself  affords.^  He  compares  it  to  an  internal  light,  by 
means  of  which,  and  which  alone,  what  passes  in  the  mind 
is  rendered  visible.  It  is  simple  and  undecompounded  ; 
always  resembling  itself.  Although  not  in  itself  definable, 
yet  it  admits  of  analysis ;  ^  and  this  is  effected  by  observing 
and  holding  fast,  the  phenomena  or  facts  of  consciousness; 
comparing  them  ;  and  from  this  comparison,  evolving  the 
universal  conditions  under  which  alone  an  act  of  conscious- 
ness is  possible. 

Consciousness  being  the  self-recognition  that  we  know, 
feel,  desire,  etc.,  exists  and  manifests  itself  under  the  follow- 
ing limitations  and  conditions  :  1.  It  is  an  actual  or  living, 
and  not  a  potential  or  dormant  knowledge.  2.  It  is  an 
immediate,  and  not  a  mediate  knowledge.  3.  It  supposes 
a  contrast,  a  discrimination,  a  distinguishing  of  something 
which  is  from  something  which  is  not.  4.  It  involves  judg- 
ment, for  it  is  impossible  to  discriminate  without  judging. 
6.  Its  possible  exercise  is  only  through  memory,  for  without 
that  our  mental  states  could  not  be  held  fast,  compared, 
distinguished  from  each  other,  and  referred  to  self. 

Both  Eeid  and  Stewart  considered  attention  as  a  mental 
faculty  distinct  from  consciousness,^  but  as  now  understood 
in  that  school  it  is  merely  an  act  of  will  or  desire,  subordi- 
nate to  the  following  law  of  intelligence,  viz  :  the  greater  the 
number  of  objects  to  which  our  consciousness  is  simultane- 
ously extended,  the  smaller  is  the  intensity  with  which  it  is 
able  to  consider  each,  and  consequently  the  less  vivid  and 
distinct  the  information  it  obtains  of  the  several  objects. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


355 


-^ 


*A 


*  MamUtm,  126.    "  Idem,  132.    '  Idem,  164. 


That  efib rt  of  will  by  which  w^e  exclude,  or  shut  out 
from  the  view  of  consciousness,  some  objects,  by  means  of 
which  those  which  remain  are  the  more  intensified,  is  called 
attention.  It  is  of  three  degrees  or  kinds :  1.  A  mere 
vital  and  irresistible  act.  2.  An  act  determined  by  desire, 
which,  though  involuntary,  may  be  resisted  by  our  will.  3. 
An  act  determined  by  a  deliberate  volition. 

Consciousness  acts,  and  evolves  its  phenomena  in  subor- 
dination to  three  laws :  1.  The  law  of  parsimony,  which 
precludes  the  assumption  of  anything  as  a  fact  of  conscious- 
ness unless  it  be  ultimate  and  simple.  2.  The  law  of 
integrity,  by  which  the  whole  facts  of  consciousness  are  to 
be  taken  without  reserve  or  hesitation,  whether  given  as 
constituent,  or  as  regulative  data.  3.  The  law  of  harmony, 
by  which  nothing  but  the  facts  of  consciousness  are  to  be 
taken,  or,  if  inferences  of  reasoning  be  admitted,  that  these 
at  least  be  recognized  as  legitimate  only  as  deduced  from, 
and  in  subordination  to,  the  immediate  data  of  conscious- 
ness, and  every  position  rejected  as  illegitimate,  which  is 
contradictory  of  these. 

An  important  point  for  the  Scottish  philosophy  to  settle, 
and  one  which  interpenetrates  its  whole  substance  is,  what 
isafact  of  consciousness?  To  this  it  is  answered  :  1.  That 
it  is  primary  and  universal.  Whenever,  in  our  analysis  of 
mental  phenomena  we  arrive  at  an  element  which  we  can- 
not reduce  to  a  generalization  from  experience,  but  which 
lies  at  the  root  of  all  experience,  and  w4iich  we  cannot, 
therefore,  resolve  into  any  higher  principle,  it  is  a  fact  of 
consciousness.  It  is  the  last  result  of  analysis,  an  ultimate 
principle.  2,  It  must  have  upon  it  the  stamp  of  necessity. 
It  must  be  impossible  not  to  think  it.  3.  It  must  be  accom- 
panied wdth  a  belief  in  its  reality.^  Its  existence  must  be 
given  and  guarantied  by  an  original  and  necessary  belief. 

Consciousness  brings  along  wi^  it  the  evidence  of  three 
facts  :  1.  That  of  our  own  self-existence.     2.  That  of  our 


^Hamilton,  188. 


356 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


own  mental  unity  or  individuality.  3.  That  of  our  own 
mental  identity. 

The  revelations  of  consciousness  suggest  three  great 
divisions  of  mental  phenomena,  viz:  1.  The  cognitive 
faculties.  2.  The  feelings.  3.  The  exertive  or  conative 
powers.  The  first  give,  as  their  result,  knowledge.  The 
second,  pleasure  and  pain.  The  third,  will  and  desire. 
This  division  was  adopted  by  Sir  William  Hamilton  from 
Kaiit.  The  founders  of  the  Scottish  school  had  adopted  the 
old  scholastic  division  into  powers  of  the  understanding, 
and  powers  of  the  will ;  or  as  they  generally  expressed  it 
into  intellectual  and  active  powers. 

The  Scottish  philosophy  next  proceeds  to  give  its  mode 
of  distribution  of  the  cognitive  faculties,  first  defining  a 
faculty  to  be  nothing  more  than  a  general  term  for  the 
causality  the  mind  has  of  originating  a  certain  class  of 
energies;  ^  and  a  capacity  to  be  only  a  general  term  for  the 
susceptibility  the  mind  has  of  being  affected  by  a  particu- 
lar class  of  emotions.  The  divisions,  given  by  Sir  William 
Hamilton,  is  in  many  respects  different  from  tliat  of  Reid 
and  Stewart.  The  following  tabular  view  will  exhibit  his 
division  :  ^ 


a 
I 


I.  Presentative 


< 


o 


External  —  Perception 
Internal  —  Self-consciousness 
II.  Consen^ative  =>  Memory 

Without  Will  =  Suggestion 
^  With  Will  =  Reminiscence 
IV. .  Rei)resentative  =  Imagination 
V.  Elaborative  =  Comparison  —  Faculty  of  Relations 
^  VI.  Regulative  =  Reason  —  Common  Sense 


III.  Repnxluctive 


I.  The  first  of  these,  the  presentative,  brings  up  as  a  dis- 
tinct subject  of  investigation  ;  What  constitutes  perception  ? 


Hamilton ,  269.    "  Idem,  378. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


357 


What  its  object?  What  its  result,  as  declared  conscious- 
ness? Here  we  arrive  at  that  which  constitutes  the  most 
distinguishing  feature  of  the  Scottish  school,  that  in  which 
it  is  directly  at  issue  with  all  the  other  schools  and  systems. 

The  question  as  to  what  constitutes  perception,  its  ob- 
ject and  result  was  not  a  new  one  when  it  was  presented 
to  the  mind  of  Reid.  All  other  schools  had  entertained 
the  belief  that  perception  took  place  through  representa- 
tion not  presentation.  The  Epicureans,^  and  schools 
thence  derived,  maintained  that  material  things  were  re- 
presented, and  by  that  means,  presented  to  the  mind, 
through  refined  substantial  effluxions  from  them  ;  while 
the  peripatetics  held  that  the  same  thing  was  accomplished 
by  means  of  immaterial  species  or  shadowy  films,  bearing 
an  exact  resemblance  to  the  external  object.  Another 
view,  entertained  by  Descartes,  was  that  the  inward  repre- 
sentation was  not  a  separate  existence,  but  a  modification 
of  the  mind  itself,  produced  according  to  him  by  the  direct 
intervention  of  the  deity,  in  his  "  occasional  causes,"  and 
according  to  Leibnitz,  by  a  preestablished  harmony.  This 
perception  was  explained  only  upon  the  principle  of  an 
hypothesis,  and  philosophy  felt  driven  to  this  necessity 
principally  from  two  considerations:  1.  The  assumption 
that  the  mind  could  only  perceive  something  that  was 
present  to  it,  and  in  it,  viz:  an  idea.  2.  That  conscious- 
ness has  no  other  possible  application  except  to  the  sub- 
jective, never  to  the  objective. 

In  accounting  for  the  act  of  perception  the  difficulty  of 
securing  a  passage  from  the  inner  world  of  consciousness 
into  the  outer  world  of  fact  had  to  be  met.  No  sane  person 
doubted  the  existence  of  both  worlds,  but  the  difficulty  was 
in  getting  from  one  to  the  other  without  violating  any  of 
the  internal  convictions,  or  any  of  the  logical  laws  of  the 
intellect.  This  has  always  been  the  Gordian  knot  of 
philosophy,  but  Eeid,  instead  of  attempting  to  untie  it,  cut 


^Mordl,  38.J. 


358 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


it.  He  established  it  as  tlie  doctrine  of  the  Scottish  school, 
that  there  was  no  representation  whatever  in  perception  ; 
that  its  act  instead  of  being  mediate,  was  immediate;  and 
that  thus  all  the  perceptible  things  of  tlie  outer  world  were 
brought  into  direct  realization  by  the  inner.  This  was 
probably  a  refuge  into  which  Dr.  Reid  threw  himself  to 
escape  from  tlie  sweeping  skepticism  of  Berkeley  and 
Hume;  and  layiqg  down,  as  he  did,  consciousness  as  a 
special  faculty  of  the  mind,  instead  of  a  common  revelator 
to  all  the  faculties,  he  found  great  difficulties  in  main- 
taining his  position.  But  more  recently  the  mind  of 
Sir  William  Hamilton  has  brought  to  the  consideration 
of  it  the  full  maturity  of  his  powers,  and  the  refuge  has 
become  a  fortress  that  bids  open  defiance  to  all  other 
schools  and  systems.  He  complains  that  the  old  doctrine 
in  all  its  forms  rests  wholly  upon  an  hypothesis,  and  this 
hypothesis  he  objects  to.  1.  As  in  no  degree  necessary. 
That  consciousness  supplies  as  an  ultimate  fact  all  that  this 
hypothesis  seeks  to  establish,  and  that  in  itself  it  is  not 
more  intelligible  than  the  fact  it  displaces.  2.  It  subverts 
the  very  thing  it  was  devised  to  explain.  It  was  to  explain 
the  act  of  coitsciousness  in  perception,  but  it  denies  its  tes- 
timony to  our  immediate  perception  of  an  outer  world.  3. 
That  the  fact  which  it  is  devised  to  explain,  viz :  the  ex- 
istence of  the  outer  world  is  itself  hypothetical  and  not 
proved.  4.  That  it  sunders  and  subverts  the  phenomenon 
to  be  explained.  5.  That  the  tact,  the  external  world  which 
is  to  be  explained  lies  without  the  spliere  of  experience  and 
that  all  legitimate  hypotheses  explain  only  those  which  lie 
within  it.  6.  That  it  is  not  single,  but  attempts  to  explain 
the  knowledge  of  an  unknown  world  by  the  ratio  of  a  re- 
presentative .perception,  while  it  is  impossible  by  any  con- 
ceivable relation  to  apply  the  ratio  to  the  facts. 

He  asserts  the  duality  of  consciousness  in  the  act  of  per- 
ception.    '*Weare,"^   he  says,  ''immediately  conscious  in 


Mamilton,  200. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


359 


perception  of  an  ego  and  a  noji-ego  known  together,  and 
known  in  contrast  to  each  other.  This  is  the  fact  of  the 
duality  of  consciousness.  It  is  clear  and  manifest,  when 
I  concentrate  ray  attention  in  the  simplest  act  of  percep- 
tion, I  return  from  my  observation  with  the  most  irre- 
sistible conviction  of  two  facts,  or  rather  two  branches  of 
the  same  fact,  that  I  am,  and  that  something  diflerent 
from  me  exists.  In  this  act  I  am  conscious  of  myself  as  the 
perceiving  subject,  and  of  an  external  reality  as  the  object 
perceived;  and  I  am  conscious  of  both  existences  in  the 
same  indivisible  moment  of  intuition.  The  knowledge  of 
the  subject  does  not  precede,  nor  follow,  the  knowledge  of 
the  object ;  neither  determines,  neither  is  determined  by,  the 
other." 

And  again  "  consciousness  not  only  gives  us  a  duality, 
but  it  gives  its  elements  in  equal  counterpoise  and  inde- 
pendence.^ The  ego  and  non-ego^  mind  and  matter,  are  not 
only  given  together,  but  in  absolute  coequality.  The  one 
does  not  precede,  the  other  does  not  follow;  and,  in  their 
mutual  relations,  each  is  equally  dependent,  equally  inde- 
dendent." 

This  doctrine  rests  distinctly  upon  the  veracity  of  con- 
sciousness, and  the  assertion  that,  as  to  us,  there  can  be  no 
higher  authority.  All  reasoning  must  be  based  upon  it, 
and  no  appeal  can  be  taken  to  any  higher  power.  It  is  to 
us  a  primal  law,  and  whatever  it  gives  us  must  be  received 
as  given.  Perception  being  given  by  consciousness  is  an 
ultimjite  fact ;  and  is  utterly  incapable  of  explanation, 
because  no  explanation  can  be  given  that  is  not  ulti- 
mately based  upon  the  same  consciousness  that  proclaims 
the  fact. 

Upon  this  doctrine  the  external  world  is  received  just  as 
consciousness  gives  it.  As  that  gives  the  conviction  of  its 
reality,  so  it  is  to  be  received  as  really  existing  as  the  ego^ 
the  J,  that  receives  it. 


*  Hamilton,  203. 


360 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


361 


Thus  the  Scottish  philosophj  bridges  the  chasm  between 
the  interior  and  the  exterior  workl,  resting  its  abutments 
upon  the  strong  irreversible  convictions  of  mankind  fur- 
nished through  consciousness.  As  auxiliary  to  this  doctrine, 
it  investigates  the  law  of  perception  and  sensation  in  their 
reciprocal  relation,  and  ascertains  it  to  be  that  filtliough 
these  are  always  coexistent,  yet  they  are  always  in  the  in- 
verse ratio  to  each  other.^  Tins  it  proves :  1.  From  a 
comparison  of  the  several  senses;  finding  that  precisely  as 
a  sense  has  more  of  the  one  element,  it  has  less  of  the 
other.  2.  From  a  comparison  of  the  several  impressions 
of  the  same  sense,  and  ascertaining  there,  that,  above  a 
certain  limit,  perception  declines  in  proportion  as  sensation 
rises.  In  connection  with  this,  it  also  asserts  the  distinction 
between  the  primary  and  secondary  qualities  of  matter; 
holding  extension  and  solidity  to  be  the  only  primary 
qualities,  while  all  the  others  are  secondary. 

Our  knowledge  of  all  the  qualities  of  matter  is  merely 
relative.  Still,  in  different  perceptions,  one  term  of  the 
relation  may  predominate,  or  the  other.^  "Where  the 
objective  element  predominates,  where  matter  is  known 
as  principal,  in  its  relation  to  mind,  and  mind  only  known 
as  subordinate  in  its  correlation  to  matter,  w^e  have  percep- 
tion proper,  rising  superior  to  sensation;  this  is  seen  in 
the  primary  qualities.  Wliere,  on  the  contrary,  the  sub- 
jective element  predominates,  where  mind  is  known  as 
principal  in  its  relation  to  matter,  and  matter  is  only  known 
as  subordinate  in  its  relation  to  mind,  w^e  have  sensation 
proper  rising  superior  to  perception ;  and  this  is  seen  in 
the  secondary  qualities." 

The  presentative  faculty,  it  will  be  remembered,  has  two 
forms:  external  and  internal,  perception  and  self-con- 
sciousness. They  are  thus  contrasted  :  *'  Perception  is  the 
power  by  which  we  are  made  aw^are  of  the  phenomena  of 
the  external  world  ;  ^  self-consciousness  the  power  by  which 


J.t 


J^ 


*  EamUtm,  336.    ''  Idem,  347.    "  Idem,  401 . 


we  apprehend  the  phenomena  of  the  internal.  The  objects 
of  the  former  are  all  presented  to  us  in  space  and  time ; 
space  and  time  are  thus  the  two  conditions,  the  two  funda- 
mental forms,  of  external  perception.  The  objects  of  the 
latter  are  all  apprehended  by  us  in  time  and  in  self,  time 
and  self  are  thus  the  two  conditions,  the  two  fundamental 
forms,  of  internal  perception  or  self-consciousness."  This 
faculty  of  self-consciousness  corresponds  with  the  reflection 
of  Locke. 

n.  ]N"ext  to  the  presentative  faculty  comes  the  conserva- 
tive memory,  which  denotes  the  power  the  mind  possesses 
of  retaining  hold  of  the  knowledge  it  has  acquired.  The 
question  here  is  raised  as  to  how  a  mental  activity  ever 
vanishes ;  and  the  answer  is  found  in  the  fact  that  as  every 
mental  activity  belongs  to  the  one  vital  activity  of  mind 
in  general,  and  as  there  is  a  given  quantity  or  degree  of 
force  to  be  exercised  among  all  the  activities,  so  will  each 
rise  and  decline  successively  as  this  force  is  differently 
distributed  among  them.  The  mind  upon  the  Scottish 
system  is  always  active. 

The  law  of  retention  extends  over  all  the  phenomena  of 
mind  alike. 

m.  Next  follows  the  reproductive  faculty,  the  function 
of  which  consists  in  the  process  of  recovering  the  absent 
thought  from  unconsciousness.^  It  is  of  two  kinds:  With- 
out will,  and  with  will ;  the  former  termed  suggestion,  the 
latter  reminiscence.  In  the  first,  reproduction  is  governed 
by  the  laws  which  regulate  the  association  of  the  mental 
train,  and  here  the  succession  is  governed  by  special  laws,^ 
according  to  which,  certain  kinds  of  modification  exclu- 
sively precede,  and  exclusively  follow  each  other.  In  the 
last  it  is  governed  by  an  act  of  volition,  which,  by  concen- 
trating attention  upon  a  certain  determinate  class  of  associ- 


*  Hamilton,  275. 
VI] 


^Idem.  429. 


46 


362 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


ating  circumstances,^  bestows  upon  these  an  extraordinary 
vivacity,  and,  consequently,  enables  them  to  obtain  the 
preponderance,  and  exclusively  to  determine  the  succes- 
sion of  the  intellectual  train. 

As  to  the  conditions  under  which  reminiscence  is  deter- 
mined to  exertion,  it  is  to  be  noted  :  1.  That,  at  every 
crisis  of  our  existence,  momentary  circumstances  are  the 
causes  which  awaken  our  activity,  and  set  our  recollection 
at  work  to  supply  the  necessaries  of  thought.  2.  It  is 
as  constituting  a  want,  a  result  either  of  an  act  of  desire 
or  of  volition,  that  the  determining  circumstance  tends 
principally  to  awaken  the  tlioughts  with  which  it  is  asso- 
ciated. Each  circumstance,  constituting  a  want,  suggests 
the  notion  of  that  which  is  calculated  to  satisfy  it. 

IV.  Next  follows  the  representative  faculty,  imagination, 
which  means  the  power  the  mind  has  of  holding  up  vividly 
before  itself  the  thoughts  which,  by  the  act  of  reproduction, 
it  has  recalled  into  consciousness. 

There  are  two  powers  by  which  the  representative  faculty 
is  determined  to  energy  :  1.  The  reproductive  faculty,  as 
the  immediate  source  from  which  it  receives  both  the 
materials  and  the  determination  to  represent ;  the  laws  of 
the  former  governing  also  tlie  latter.^  2.  Comparison,  the 
faculty  of  relations,  plays  also  a  conspicuous  part,  in  deter- 
mining in  what  combinations  objects  are  represented.  By  it 
complex  objects  are  separated  into  parts,  analyzed,  and  again 
recombined,  or  compounded  in  every  variety  of  fashion. 

In  subordination  to  these  two  determinants,  there  are 
three  principal  orders  in  which  imagination  represents 
ideas  :  1.  The  natural  order,  that  according  to  which  our 
thoughts  spontaneously  group  themselves.  2.  The  logical 
order,  subdivided  :  1st.  Induction,  presentation  of  particu- 
lars and  ascending  to  the  universal  which  they  constitute. 
2d.  Deduction,  presentation  of  universals,  and  derivation 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


363 


■«»■ 


'' 


Hamilton,  441.    '  Idem,  453. 


thence  of  particulars.  3d.  The  poetical  order  consisting  in 
seizing  individual  circumstances,  and  in  so  grouping  them 
that  the  imagination  shall  represent  them  so  as  they  might 
be  offered  by  the  sense. ^ 

The  imagination  employs  the  organs  of  sense  in  the 
representations  of  sensible  objects,  and  by  its  attractive  or 
repulsive  pictures,  according  to  our  habits  and  associations, 
fills  the  frame  of  our  life  with  enjoyment  or  misery. 

V.  The  elaborative  faculty,  the  faculty  of  relations,  com- 
parison, gives  us  what  we  may  strictly  denominate  thought. 
All  the  previous  faculties  have  been  subsidiary  to  this.  It 
is  this  which  acts  upon  what  the  others  furnish,  and  hence 
affords  us  an  instance  purely  of  intellection.  This  faculty 
is  determined  by  objective  conditions  :  1.  Its  first  and 
simplest  act  is  the  discrimination  of  existence  from  non- 
existence.2  2.  In  affirming  the  existence  of  the  ego  and 
the  non-ego,  we  also  affirm  their  existence  in  duality,  in 
difference  in  mutual  contrast.  3.  The  recognition  of  the 
multiplicity  of  the  coexistent  or  successive  phenomena, 
presented  either  to  perception  or  self-consciousness,  and 
the  judgment  in  regard  to  their  resemblance  or  dissimi- 
larity. 4.  The  comparison  of  phenomena  with  the  native 
notion  of  substance,  and  the  judgment  is  the  grouping  of 
these  phenomena  into  different  bundles,  as  attributes  of 
different  subjects,  in  the  external  world  constituting  the 
distinction  of  things ;  in  the  internal  that  of  powers.  5. 
The  collation  of  successive  phenomena  under  the  native 
notion  of  causality,  and  the  affirmation  or  negation  of  their 
mutual  relation  as  cause  and  effect. 

The  Scottish  school  refer  to  this  faculty  a  series  of  opera- 
tions which  by  many  other  philosophers  have  been  made 
the  functions  of  specific  powers.  Such  are :  1.  Composition 
or  synthesis.'  2.  Abstraction,  decomposition,  or  analysis. 
3.  Generalization.     4.  Judgment.     5.  Reasoning. 


'  HamUton,  455.    '  Idem,  465.    » Idem,  473. 


w 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


365 


VI.  The  regulative  faculty  is  the  last,  and  tlie  one  that 
brings  to  view  several  important  features  of  the  Scottish 
school.  The  term  is  employed  not  to  denote  the  proximate 
cause  of  any  definite  energy,  but  the  power  the  mind  has 
of  being  the  native  source  of  certain  necessary  or  4  priori 
cognitions,^  which,  as  they  are  the  conditions,  the  forms, 
under  which  our  knowledge  is  possible,  constitute  so  many 
fundamental  laws  of  intellectual  nature.  This  faculty  is 
the  complement  of  such  laws.  It  is  the  locus  principiorum. 
By  some  it  is  called  reason,  by  others  common  sense. 

The  distinction  was  taken  by  Leibnitz,  between  neces- 
sary truths,  or  those  apprehended  by  demonstration,^  and 
those  which  become  known  to  us  by  induction  alone  ; 
the  former  of  which  can  only  be  approved  to  us  by  prin- 
ciples native  to  the  mind.  Such  are  the  notions  of  being, 
of  substance,  of  one  and  the  same,  of  the  true,  of  the  good, 
and  many  others  innate  to  the  mind.^  It  is  the  quality  of 
necessity  which  discriminates  a  native  from  an  adventitious 
element  of  knowledge. 

All  that  is  conceivable  in  thought  lies  between  two  ex- 
tremes,* which,  as  contradictory  to  each  other,  cannot  both 
be  true;  but  of  which,  as  mutual  contradictories,  one 
must.  Take,  for  instance,  space.  In  one  extreme,  it  can- 
not be  considered  as  illimitable,  for  over  whatever  space 
we  travel,  we  are  still  in  the  finite.  In  the  other  extreme, 
it  is  equally  impossible  to  reach  its  commencement,  for  on 
the  principle  of  infinite  divisibility,  we  can  never  reach  a 
point  so  small,  as  that  no  smaller  will  remain.  The  same 
may  said  of  time.  Thus,  the  conceivable,  the  intermediate, 
is  in  every  relation  bounded  by  the  inconceivable,  and 
this  is  what  Sir  William  Hamilton  calls  the  law  of  condi- 
tioned. His  position  in  reference  to  this  is  that  the  con- 
ditioned is  that  which  is  alone  conceivable;*  the  uncondi- 
tioned that  which  is  inconceivable.  That  everytliing 
thinkable  or  conditioned,  lies  between  two  extremes  or 


poles,  each  of  which  is  unconditioned,  inconceivable,  and 
exclusive  or  contradictory  of  the  other.  The  absolute,  the 
infinite,  the  unconditioned,  are  utterly  inconceivable  by 
We   know   God  according  to   the   finitude  of  our 


us. 


faculties,  but  we  believe  much  that  we  are  incompetent  to 
know — faith.  Belief  is  the  organ  by  which  we  appre- 
hend what  is  beyond  our  knowledge. 

The  philosophy  of  the  conditioned  is  invoked  to  furnish 
principles  to  solve  the  problems  of  cause  and  eflfect,  and  of 
substance  and  phenomenon,  or  accident. 

That  particular  effects  have  particular  causes,  which  may 
be  determined,  is  contingent,  individual,  a  datum  of  experi- 
ence. But  that  every  event  should  have  its  causes  is  neces- 
sary and  universal,  a  condition  of  intelligence  itself. 

There  are  two  classes  of  opinions  explanatory  of  the  causal 
judgment.  The  first  rests  either  immediately  or  mediately 
upon  experience;  the  second,  either  immediately  or  medi- 
ately on  a  native  principle  of  the  mind  itself.  In  order  to 
understand  how  this  judgment  is  brought  within  the  law  of 
the  conditioned,  it  is  necessary  to  advert  to  the  fact  that  all 
thought  implies  the  thought  of  existence,^  and  that  hence 
existence  may  be  laid  down  as  a  necessary  form,  of  thought. 
So  also  is  time  the  necessary  condition  of  every  conscious 
act.  Thought  is  only  realized  to  us  as  in  succession,  and 
succession  is  only  conceived  by  us  in  time.  Existence,  and 
existence  in  time,  is  thus  an  elementary  form  of  our  intel- 
ligence. 

But  as  the  absolute  and  the  infinite  must  be  entirely 
excluded,  it  is  obvious  that  we  conceive  existence  only  as 
conditioned  in  time.  And  existence  conditioned  in  time 
expresses  at  once  and  in  relation^  the  three  categories  of 
thought,  which  afford  us  in  combination  the  principle  of 
causality.     The  explanation  is  this : 

As  existence  and  time  are  established  as  the  categories 
of  all  thought,  whenever  anything  is  thought   to  exist,  it 


'  IlamiUon,  512.    UdemJAd.    Udem,  52o.    'Idem,  527.    ''Idem,mO. 


ILinulton,  548.    '  Idem,  548. 


366 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


367 


must  be  thought  to  exist  iu  time.  That  is  either  present, 
past,  or  future.^  A  thing  once  in  existence  we  can  never 
conceive  as  nonexistent  either  in  tlie  past  or  the   future. 

But  it  is  now  existing.  How  came  it  so?  That  the 
phenomenon  presented  to  us  began,  as  a  phenomenon,  to 
be,  we  know  by  experience.  We  are  compelled  to  believe 
that  tlie  object  whose  phenomenal  rise  into  existence  we 
have  witnessed,  did  really  exist,  prior  to  this  rise,  under 
other  forms.  But  to  say  that  a  thing  previously  existed 
under  other  fortus  is  the  same  thing  as  saying  tliat  it  had 
causes,  and  thus  vindicates  the  causal  judgment  under  the 
law  of  the  conditioned. 

Mental  phenomena,  according  to  the  Scottish  philosophy 
as  expounded  by  Sir  William  Hamilton,  are  divided  into 
three  classes :  cognitions,  feelings,  conations.  These  are  all 
revealed  by  consciousness,  but  they  are  revealed  as  possess- 
ing qualities,  attributes  and  characteristics  peculiar^  to 
themselves,  and  hence  its  testimony  favors  their  distribu- 
tion into  different  classes.  The  Scottish  philosoi)hy,  there- 
fore, holds  that  the  phenomena  of  pleasure  and  pain  con- 
stitute a  distinct  order  of  internal  states,^  thus  establishing 
the  capacity  of  feeling  aa  one  of  the  fundamental  powers 

of  the  human  mind. 

In  actual  life  the  feelings  occupy  a  position  intermediate 
between  the  cognitions  and  the  conations.  This  is  one  of 
necessity,^  for  without  the  previous  cognition  there  could 
be  neither  feeling  nor  conation,  and  without  the  previous 
feeling  there  could  be  no  conation.  The  objective  pre- 
sented in  thought  excites  the  feeling,  and  that  in  its  turn 
gives  rise  to  volition.  The  manifestations  of  the  cona- 
tive  powers  are  determined  by  the  feelings.  This  is  appar- 
ent :  1.  Because  all  objects  known  in  the  same  manner  and 
degree,  are  not  equal  objects  of  desire  or  will.  2.  Because 
different  individuals  are  desirous  of  different  objects.  Points 
of  difference  between  the  three  classes  :*  In  the  cognition, 


consciousness  distinguishes  between  the  object  known  and 
the  subject  knowing.  In  the  feeling,  consciousness  fuses 
the  mental  state  with  itself;  there  is  nothing  but  the  sub- 
jective, no  object  different  from  self.  In  the  conation, 
there  is  an  object,  and  that  an  object  of  knowledge,  but  it 
differs  from  cognition  in  the  fact  that  it  is  accompanied  by 
a  want  which  excites  the  will  to  supply  it. 

Pleasure  and  pain  are  the  phenomena  which  constitute 
the  essential  attribute  of  feeling,  under  all  its  modifications.^ 
The  first  is  a  reflex  of  the  spontaneous  and  unimpeded  ex- 
ertion of  a  power,  of  whose  energy  we  are  conscious;  the 
latter  a  reflex  of  the  overstrained  or  repressed  exertion  of 
such  a  power." 

All  feeling  is  a  state  in  which  we  are  conscious  of  some 
of  the  energies  or  processes  of  life,  and  as  these  differ  from 
each  other,^  so  will  the  correlative  feelings.  There  will, 
therefore,  be  as  many  difterent  feelings  as  there  are  distinct 
modes  of  mental  activity. 

In  this  view  of  the  feelings,  referring  their  differences  to 
the  difterences  of  the  powers  which  they  attend,  there  are 
two  great  classes,  viz  : 

1.  Sensations,  those  which  accompany  the  vital  processes 
more  immediately  connected  with  the  corporeal  organism. 

2.  Sentiments,  those  which  accompany  the  mental  pro- 
cesses, and  which,  if  not  wholly  inorganic,  are  less  imme- 
diately dependent  on  the  conditions  of  the  nervous  system. 

The  sensations  are  again  subdivided  into  two  orders: 
1.  Those  which  accompany  the  action  of  the  ^ve  deter- 
minate senses.  2.  Those  which  accompany  or  constitute 
the  manifestations  of  the  indeterminate,  or  vital  sense,* 
such  as  heat  and  cold,  hunger  and  thirst,  etc. 

The  sentiments  are  also  subdivided  into  two  orders: 
1.  The  contemplative,  those  which  are  the  concomitants  of 
our  cognitive  powers.^  2.  The  practical,  the  concomitants 
of  our  powers  of  conation.     The  former  are  a^ain  divided 


' HamUton,  rm.    'Mem,n5^.    'I(fcm,m.    *mem,m. 


\ 


'  Hamilton,  573.    '  Idem,  577.    '  Idem,  613.    ■*  Idem,  614.    ^  Idem,  616. 


.-1 


368 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


369 


into  :  1.  Those  of  the  subsidiary  faculities.  2.  Those  of 
the  elaborative.  The  former  are  divided  into  two  chisses 
according  as  they  are  the  concomitants  of  the  lower  or  sub- 
sidiary, or  the  higher  or  elaborative  faculty  of  cognition. 
To  the  former  belong  those  of  self-consciousness,  or  internal 
perception;  to  the  latter  those  of  imagination,  referring  to 
the  imagination  the  relative  faculty  of  reproduction.  The 
latter,  or  elaborative  class,  include  all  those  feelings  which 
arise  from  the  gratification  of  tlie  regulative  faculty,  the 
reason  or  intelligence.  Those  feelings  which  arise  from 
the  acts  of  imagination  and  understanding  in  conjunction 
are  principally  those  of  beauty  and  sublimity. 

The  conative  powers  give  rise  to  the  practical  feelings, 
and  they  are  relative,  either:  1.  To  our  self-preservation ; 
or,  2.  To  the  enjoyment  of  our  existence ;  or,  3.  To  the 
preservation  of  the  species  ;  or,  4.  To  our  tendency  towards 
development  and  perfection  ;  or,  5.  To  the  moral  law. 

The  freedom  of  the  human  will  is  a  postulate  of  the 
Scottish  school.  Tliat  could  not  but  be  affirmed  by  a 
philosophy  whose  peculiar  mission  is  the  development  of 
consciousness.  Besides,  it  derives  this  freedom  from  the 
very  nature  of  the  moral  law.  That  law  is  a  law  of  duty, 
which  unconditionally  commands  the  fulfillment  of  its  be- 
hests.^ This  supposes  an  ability  to  fulfill  them,  and  the 
liberty  of  human  action  is  thus  involved  in  the  datum  of 
the  law  of  duty. 

We  now  bid  farewell  to  the  Scottish  school  of  philosophy. 
We  have  given  it  essentially  as  contained  in  the  teachings 
of  Sir  William  Hamilton,  its  latest  and  ablest  representa- 
tive. We  have  endeavored  to  do  it  that  justice  which  it 
has  failed  to  receive  from  the  writers  of  the  history  of 
philosophy.  It  is  a  school  which  preserves  throughout  an 
entire  consistency  with  itself;  and,  as  it  proposes  only  to 
develop  the  phenomena  of  consciousness,  it  accomplishes 
all  it  professes.     Its  whole  course  is  characterized  by  ex- 


*  HamUton,  633. 


treme  caution.  By  arriving  at  the  external  world  through 
the  duality  of  consciousness,  and  by  confining  itself  within 
the  region  of  the  conditioned,  it  has  clipped  the  wings  of 
speculation,  and  thus  prevented  its  diving  to  depths  pro- 
found, or  soaring  to  dizzy  heights;  but  by  these  very 
means,  it  has  given  to  its  philosophy  a  practical  character ; 
kept  it  within  the  region  of  the  comprehensible ;  and  thus 
rendered  it  an  aid  and  a  guide  to  man,  instead  of  a  wonder, 
and  a  marvel,  and  a  mystery.  If,  by  its  own  self-limitations, 
it  has  failed  to  render  up  all  that  man's  deepest  wants 
seem  to  demand,  it  has  supplied  all  that  his  necessities 
require,  and  perhaps  all  that  God  intended  him  to  receive. 


Phrenology — Gall,  Spurzkeim,  Combe. 

Before  passing  to  the  consideration  of  the  German  school, 
embracing  the  critical  philosophy,  it  will  be  necessary  to 
pay  same  attention  to  the  phrenological  school,  whose  great 
chiefs  are  Gall,  Spurzheim,  and  Combe.  The  originator  of 
this  school  is  Francis  Joseph  Gall,  who  was  born  at  Tiefen- 
brunn  in  Suabia,  on  the  9th  of  March,  1757.  The  main  prin- 
ciple, however,  upon  which  this  school  is  based,  is  much 
earlier  than  Dr.  Gall.  Prochasta  had  long  previously  asked 
this  interrogatory.  "  Do  each  of  the  divisions  of  the  intellect 
occupy  a  separate  portion  of  the  brain  ?  "  and  then  proceeds 
to  say :  "  It  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  each  division  of 
the  intellect  has  its  allotted  organ  in  the  brain,  so  that  there 
is  one  for  the  perceptions,  another  for  the  understanding ; 
probably  others  also  for  the  will,  and  imagination,  and 
memory,  which  act  wonderfully  in  concert,  and  mutally 
excite  each  other  to  action."  This,  it  will  be  seen,  shadows 
forth  the  principle  upon  which  Gall  proceeds.  It  was  left 
however,  entirely  undeveloped.  This  may  have  suggested 
to  Dr.  Gall  the  principle  of  his  system,  although  the  state- 
ment is  that  he  was  led  to  its  adoption  from  observing,  while 
a  boy,  the  difterences  of  character  and  talents  displayed  by 
members   of  the  same  family,  taken  in  connection  with 

VI]  47 


V 


370 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


certain  peculiarities  of  the  bead  corresponding  with  these 
differences.  In  corroboration  of  this  last  it  seems  very 
clear  that  Gall's  first  work  for  a  number  of  years,  was  one 
of  observation.  He  possessed  a  shrewd  nack  of  discrimi- 
nating character,  and  of  comparing  cranial  development 
with  its  various  manifestations.  A  lunatic  asylum  at 
Vienna  afforded  him  opportunities  of  comparing  the  exhi- 
bitions made  by  certain  monomaniacs  with  peculiar  forms 
and  configurations  of  the  skull.  He  also  resorted  to  prisons 
and  courts  of  justice  to  make  his  observations  on  form  and 
manifestation.  Finally,  after  spending  about  twenty  years 
in  observation  and  dissection,  he  gave  his  first  course  of 
lectures  in  Vienna  in  1796.  The  result  was  the  creation  of 
a  great  sensation.  It  was  starting  the  human  mind  on  a 
new  track  of  inquiry.  It  was  opening  up  a  new  avenue  to 
the  investigation  and  ascertainment  of  character.  If  men 
really  carried  on  the  exterior  of  their  crania  the  marks  by 
which  the  interior  could  be  arrived  at ;  if,  from  the  inspection 
of  the  former,  the  contents  of  the  latter  could  be  revealed, 
it  was  a  science  that  could  claim  for  itself  a  great  amount 
of  consideration. 

In  1800,  Dr.  J.  G.  Spurzheim,  wlio  was  born  atLongwich, 
near  Treves,  on  the  Moselle,  on  the  Slst  December,  1776, 
assisted  for  the  first  time  Dr.  Gall  in  his  course  of  lectures  ; 
and  in  1804,  after  having  completed  his  medical  studies, 
he  became  associated  with  Dr.  Gall  in  the  labor  of  unfold- 
ing the  anatomy,  physiology  and  pathology  of  the  brain 
and  nervous  system.  On  the  30th  October,  1806,  they 
entered  Paris.  In  1808,  they  presented  to  the  institute 
their  Memoire  on  the  Anatomy  ami  Physiologij  of  the  Nervous 
System  in  general,  and  of  the  Brain  in  particular;  and 
in  1810  appeared  the  first  volume  of  their  great  work,  under 
the  same  title,  whicli  work  was  remodeled  in  1823  and 
published  in  six  volumes  octavo,  under  the  \M\q  oi Fonctions 
du  Cerveau,  After  laboring  long  together,  Drs.  Gall  and 
Spurzheim  finally  separated  from  each  other,  each  pursuing 
his  investigations  on  his  own  account.     The  latter  subse- 


0 


ELTROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


371 


quently  gave  courses  of  lectures,  and  while  giving  one  at 
Edinburgh  in  1816,  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  enlist  the 
attention,  and  finally  to  secure  the  convictions  to  his  doc- 
trines of  George  Combe,  Esq.,  whose  services  in  the  cause 
of  phrenology  both  in  Europe  and  America  have  been  most 
eminently  successful.  Both  these  last  named  gentlemen 
have  lectured  much  in  Europe  and  America,  Dr.  Spurzheim 
dying  in  Boston  in  1833  while  delivering  in  that  city  his 
first  course  of  lectures  in  this  country. 

After  the  separation  of  Gall  and  Spurzheim,  each  one 
separately,  as  also  Mr.  Combe,  pursued  the  study,  lecturing 
and  publishing  works  on  the  general  subject.  The  most 
important  of  these  have  been  reprinted  in  this  country. 
Dr.  Gall's  work  On  the  Origin  of  the  Moral  Qualities  and  In- 
iellectual  Faculties  of  3lan  and  the  Conditions  of  their  Manifesta- 
tion, in  six  volumes,  was  published  in  Boston,  in  1835.  Dr. 
Spurzheim's  work  entitled  Phrenology,  or  the  Doctrine  of  the 
Mental  Phejiojnena,  in  two  volumes,  was  also  published  in 
Boston  in  1834.  And  Mr.  Combe's  work  entitled  a  System 
of  Phrenology,  was  also  published  in  the  same  city  during 
the  same  year. 

The  so-called  science  of  phrenology  asserts  and  main- 
tains the  truth  of  three  propositions,  viz  : 

1.  That  the  brain  is  not  the  one  single  organ  of  mind, 
but  on  the  contrary,  a  congeries  of  organs. 

2.  That  the  mind  is  not  the  one  single  general  power 
equally  capable  of  acting  in  any  direction,  but  that  it  con- 
sists of  a  plurality  of  faculties,  each  having  its  own  specific 
function. 

3.  That  each  faculty  is  developed  through,  or  connected 
with,  its  organ,  and  that  this  connection  of  faculty  with  organ 
its  determinable,  and  has  been  determined  by  observation. 

Thus  phrenology  is  made  to  rest  upon  three  foundations : 

1.  The  anatomical  or  physiological,  which  relates  to  the 

brain.     2.  The  phrenological,  which  relates   to  the  mind. 

3.  The  empirical,  or  observational,  which  assigns  faculty 

to  organ,  and  thus  connects  the  two  together. 


372 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


\l 


Aside  from  the  empirical  element,  phreDology  may  be 
substantially  summed  up  in  three  inquiries : 

I.  The  material  organ,  its  location,  size,  and  the  condi- 
tions that  affect  it 

n.  The  mental  faculty,  how  it  may  be  defined,  what  its 

peculiar  function. 

in.  The  modes  of  activity  which  are  common  to  all  the 
faculties  of  a  particular  class  or  order. 

I.  The  first  relates  to  the  organology  of  the  science,  or 
what  is  frequently  termed  craniosopy.  As  there  is  nothing 
here  but  matter,  as  we  might  naturally  suppose.  Gall  and 
Spurzheim  made  the  structures  of  the  nervous  system,  and 
especially  of  the  brain,  a  subject  of  close  and  critical 
examination.  It  seems  generally  admitted  that  they  have 
opened  new  avenues  of  knowledge  relating  to  the  structure 
and  physiology  of  the  brain.  They  have  unfolded  its  parts, 
shown  its  fibrous  structure,  traced  its  convolutions,  and 
exhibited  its  difterent  connections,  in  such  a  manner  as  to 
throw  new  light  on  its  physiology.  The  organology,  how- 
ever, of  the  science  is  not  very  much  aided  by  these  dis- 
coveries. We  cannot  find  in  the  brain  distinct  organs  for 
the  residence  of  the  separate  faculties.  On  the  contrary, 
the  brain,  although  it  has  distinct  parts,  yet  these  do  not 
correspond  with  the  different  organs  of  the  faculties.  The 
faculties  as  we  shall  hereafter  see,  have  primarily  two  great 
divisions,  the  affective  and  intellecual. 

The  first  of  these  are  susceptible  of  two  divisions  :  propen- 
sities and  sentiments.  The  second,  in  like  maflner,  are 
divided  into  perceptive  or  knowing,  and  reflective  faculties. 
The  first  great  point  to  determine  is  the  regions  of  the 
brain  in  which  these  several  classes  of  faculties  are  located. 
With  this  view  figure  1  in  the  plate  is  presented.  The 
ideal  line,  which  may  be  conceived  as  running  directly 
through  from  one  ear  to  the  other,  thus  connecting  the 
two  meati  auditorii  together,  is  taken  as  an  axis,  and  the 
proportion  of  brain  lying  in  difterent  directions  around  it 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


373 


i 


1 


is  the  measure  or  criterion  of  intellect  or  of  feeling.     If  the 
mass  of  brain  between  this  axis  and  the  forehead  is  large, 
the  organs  of  the  perceptive,  knowing  and  reflective  facul- 
ties are  fully  developed.     If  that  which  lays  behind  and 
immediately  above— forming  the  back  and  lower  central 
part  of  the  head— is  extensive,  indicates  a  full  development 
of  the  organs,  and  consequently  possession  of  the  faculties, 
common  to  man  and  animals.     A  large  portion  of  brain 
in  the  upper,  lateral  and  horizontal   region  of  the  head 
indicates  that  the  organs  of  those  faculties  which  manifest 
the  sentiments  proper  to  man  are  voluminous.     To  arrive 
at  the  relative  proportions  of  these  different  regions,  sup- 
pose a  line  drawn  from  the  centre  of  that  axis  to  that  point 
at  the  top  of  the  head  near  where  the  frontal  and  sagital  su- 
tures meet,  the  line  marked  E  G  on  the  plate.     The  region 
behind  this  line  is  called  the  occipital,  that  before,  the  frontal. 
The  length  of  this  line  measures  the  height  of  the  head. 
Again,  suppose  a  line  drawn  from  the  middle  of  the  fore- 
head, or  from  the  organ  of  eventuality  to  the  point  of  union 
between  the  parietal  and  occipital  bones,  D  F,  on  the  plate. 
The  part  below  this  line  is  the  basilar,  that  above  the  sinci- 
pital or  coronal  region  of  the  brain.     The  basilar  is  the 
region  of  the  propensities,  the  sincipital  or  coronal  that  of 
the  sentiments.     In  estimating  the  development  of  these 
regions  the  width  of  the  head  must  be  compared  with  its 
height.     A  low  head,  with  the  basilar  or  lower  region  of 
the  brain  widely  and  largely  developed,  indicates  the  pre- 
dominance of  the  animal  nature ;  a  high  head,  as  that  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  with  the  sincipital  or  upper  region  simi- 
larly developed,  indicates  the  predominance  of  the  moral 
nature.     While  the  propensities  are  located  in  the  lower 
or  basilar  region  of  the  brain,  and  the  sentiments  in  the 
upper  or  sincipital,  the  intellectual  faculties  are  situated  in 
the  frontal  region.     The  perceptive  and  knowing  occupy 
the  lower,  and  the  reflective  the  upper  part  of  that  region. 
The  following  is  the  mode  by  which  the  comparative 
development  of  these  two  classes  of  faculties  can  be  esti- 


NAMES 


OP  THE 


111 


Phrenological  Organs, 

Referring  to  the^gures  indicating 
their  relative  position. 


I.  Propensities. 

1.  Amativeness. 

3.  Philoprogenitiveness. 

3.  Inhabitiveness,    or    Con- 

centrativt'iiess. 

4.  Adhesiveness. 

5.  Combativeness. 

6.  Destructiveness. 

7.  Secret! veness. 

8.  Acquisitiveness. 

9.  Constructiveness. 

II.  Sentiments. 

10.  Self-istcera. 

11.  Love  of  Approbation. 

12.  Cautiousness. 

13.  Benevolence. 

14.  Veneration. 

15.  Firinuess. 

16.  Conscientiousness. 

17.  Hope. 

18   Wonder,  or    Marvelous- 
ness. 

19.  Ideality. 

20.  Wit,  or  Mirtlifulness. 

21.  Imitation. 

III.  Intellect, 
1.  Perceptive. 

22.  Individuality. 

23.  Form. 

24.  Sizti. 

25.  Weiffbt. 

26.  Order. 

27.  Lcxiality. 

28.  Number. 

29.  Coloring;. 

30.  Eventuality. 

31.  Time. 

32.  Tune. 

33.  Language. 


2.  Reflective. 

34.  Comparison. 

35.  Causality. 


D 


M 


F 


FlOTTEE   4. 


19  J  /5 


[^ '. 


»o 


"x 

T 


Fic.rin-:  3. 


I  > 


376 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


377 


mated :  In  figure  1,  suppose  the  line  A  B  to  represent  a 
plane  passing  through  the  pupil  of  the  eye  directly  through 
the  axis,  or  line,  connecting  the  two  meati  auditorii,  to  the 
back  part  of  the  head.  Suppose  another  plane  to  be 
represented  by  the  line  B  C,  passing  from  the  surface  of  the 
reflecting  faculties  over  those  of  the  perceptive  and  know- 
ing, until  it  intersects  the  plane  represented  by  the  line  AB. 
The  angle  ABC,  formed  at  the  point  of  intersection  of  the 
two  planes,  represented  by  the  lines  AB  and  CB,  will  indicate 
the  comparative  development  of  those  two  classes  of  facul- 
ties. The  larger  the  angle  the  more  will  the  reflecting 
faculties  preponderate  over  the  perceptive  and  knowing. 
The  more  acute  the  angle,  the  greater  the  comparative 
strength  of  the  perceptive  and  knowing  over  those  of  the 
reflecting. 

Having  determined  the  diflferent  regions  of  the  brain  in 
which  the  organs  of  the  different  classes  of  faculties  are 
located,  the  phrenologist  next  proceeds  to  the  location  of 
the  several  organs.  These  he  determines  by  observing 
what  faculties  predominate  in  the  character  of  the  indivi- 
dual, and  what  particular  portions  of  the  brain  have  an 
uniform  development  wherever  those  faculties  are  mani- 
fested. The  cranium  in  a  healthy  organization,  with  the 
exception  of  the  frontal  sinus,  corresponds  in  the  main 
with  the  brain  surface  which  it  covers.  On  the  cranium 
the  phrenologist  has  marked  the  location  of  the  different 
faculties,  the  organs  of  which  are  ideal  cones  having  the 
base  at  the  cranial  surface,  and  the  apex  at  the  medulla 
oblongata,  which  nearly  corresponds  to  the  axis,  or  line 
connecting  the  meati  auditorii.  Figures  2,  3,  4,  and  5,  of 
the  plate  will  exhibit  the  manner  of  mapping  out  the  dif- 
ferent organs,  and  the  faculties  at  the  margin  of  the  plate 
will  be  found  placed  opposite  to  their  corresponding  num- 
bers.    In  reference  to  organs  it  has  been  observed  : 

1.  That  in  all  ascertained  instances,  diflerent  functions 
are  never  performed  by  the  same  organ,  but  that  each 
function  has  an  organ  by  itself.     Thus  the  stomach  does 


4?l 


nothing  but  digest  food,  the  liver  nothing  but  secrete  bile, 
the  lachrymal  gland,  tears,  etc. 

2.  That  the  various  mental  powers  of  man  appear  in 
succession,  and  as  a  general  rule,  that  the  reflecting  or  rea- 
soning fticulties  are  those  which  arrive  latest  at  perfection. 

3.  That  genius  is  almost  always  partial,  and  is  owing  to 
the  predominance  of  some  large  organ  in  the  cerebral  or- 
ganization. 

4.  That  the  phenomena  of  dreaming  are  at  variance  with 
the  supposition  of  the  mind  manifesting  all  its  faculties 
by  means  of  a  single  organ,  while  they  are  claimed  to 
be  consistent  with,  and  explicable  by,  that  of  a  plurality 

of  organs. 

5.  The  admitted  phenomena  of  partial  idiocy,  and 
partial  insanity,  are  only  properly  explainable  upon  the 
principle  of  plurality  of  faculties  and  organs. 

The  general  rule  in  relation  to  organs  is  that  where  other 
things  are  equal,  size  of  organ  is  a  measure  of  strength 
and  power  in  the  faculty  with  which  it  is  connected.  This 
comparison  of  size,  however,  must  be  made  of  organs  in 
the  head  of  the  same  individual.  When  compared  with 
similar  organs  in  the  heads  of  different  individuals  other 
thinffs  than  size  are  to  be  taken  into  consideration.  The 
condition  of  the  individual,  and  the  temperaments,  lym- 
phatic, sanguine,  bilious,  and  nervous,  are  then  found  very 
considerably  to  modify  the  principle  that  size  is  a  measure 
of  power.  The  indicia  of  these  temperaments,  however, 
are  pretty  clearly  ascertainable,  and  hence  their  influence 
upon  size,  within  the  limits  of  calculation. 

n.  The  second  inquiry  regards  the  mental  faculty. 
How  defined,  and  what  its  peculiar  function.  Shall  the 
mind  be  regarded  as  a  single  general  power,  equally  capa- 
ble originally  of  operating  to  the  same  eftect  in  every 
possible  direction,  or  shall  it  be  viewed  as  consisting  of  a 
plurality  of  faculties,  each  independent  of  the  others,  and 

vi]  48 


378 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


379 


possessing  its  own  specific  function  ?  The  latter  is  the 
principle  assumed  by  the  doctrine  of  phrenology.  It  con- 
siders each  faculty  in  its  nature  primitive  and  designated 
by  the  following  rules:  1.  It  may  exist  in  one  kind  of 
animals,  and  not  in  another.  2.  May  vary  in  the  two  sexes 
of  the  same  species.  3.  Is  not  necessarily  proportionate  to 
the  other  faculties  of  the  same  individual.  4.  Does  not 
necessarily  manifest  itself  simultaneously  with  the  other 
faculties.  5.  May  act  or  rest  singly.  6.  Is  descendible  in 
a  direct  line  from  parents  to  children.  7.  May  singly  pre- 
serve its  proper  state  of  health  or  disease. 

The  ascertainment  of  the  faculties,  subject  to  the  appli- 
cation of  these  rules,  depends  upon  a  profound  mental 
analysis,  which  to  be  complete  must  be  exhaustive,  and 
include  every  distinct  faculty  with  which  humanity  has 
been  endowed. 

The  faculties  are  primarily  divisible  into  two  great 
orders.     These  are : 

1.  Feeling,  and  are  termed  affective  faculties. 

2.  Intellect,  and  are  termed  intellectual  faculties. 

The  two  orders  are  again  divisible  each  into  two  genera. 

The  affective  faculties  are  divided  into  :  1.  Propensities. 
2.  Sentiments.  The  first  are  applied  to  internal  impulses, 
which  invite  only  to  certain  actions.  The  second  desig- 
nate other  feelings,  not  limited  to  inclination  alone,  but 
which  have  superadded  an  emotion  of  a  peculiar  kind.  It 
is  characteristic  of  both  these  genera,  liowever,  that  they 
give  birth  only  to  blind  impulses  and  emotions.  They 
have  nothing  intellectual  or  enlightening  in  their  composi- 
tion. They  contain  all  the  impulses  to  action,  each  in  the 
direction  of  its  own  specific  function.  In  excess,  they  arc 
productive  only  of  evil.  How  then  are  they  directed, 
restrained  and  modified  ?  By  the  action  or  influence  of 
the  intellectual  faculties.  These  form  ideas,  foresee  con- 
sequences, enlighten,  and  thus,  in  connection  with  some  of 
the  sentiments,  serve  to  restrain,  modify,  and  direct  the 
propensities. 


1 


The  intellectual  faculties  are  divided  into  : 

1.  Perceptive  faculties. 

2.  Reflective  faculties. 

The  first  take  cognizance  of  things  and  their  relations, 
while  the  second  reason  upon  them.  According  to  the 
doctrine  as  expounded  by  Spurzheim  and  Combe,  the  pro- 
pensity faculties  are  nine  in  number,  the  sentiments  twelve, 
the  perceptive  faculties  twelve,  and  the  reflective  two,  in 
all  thirty-five.  These  faculties  will  be  found  stated  on  the 
plate.  The  names  of  many  of  them  will  suggest  the  fuuc- 
tion  of  the  faculty  to  which  the  name  belongs.  The 
difterent  works  on  phrenology  are  largely  taken  up  in  desig- 
nating the  function  of  each  faculty.  This  is  a  matter  into 
which  we  do  not  propose  to  enter.  So  that  we  may  next 
consider. 

III.  The  modes  of  activity  which  are  common  to  all  the 
faculties  of  a  particular  class  or  order.  The  faculties  were 
all  framed  for  action  as  fully  as  the  muscles  were  for  move- 
ment. Those  whose  oflice  it  is  to  produce  propensities  and 
sentiments  cannot  be  excited  to  activity  by  any  direct  effort 
of  the  will.  They  act:  1.  From  an  internal  excitement  of 
the  organs.  2.  Upon  the  presentment  of  external  objects 
fitted  by  nature  to  excite  them.  3.  By  an  indirect  effort 
of  the  will ;  that  is  by  the  formation,  by  the  intellectual  facul- 
ties of  the  ideas  of  objects  fitted  by  nature  to  excite  them ; 
and  on  the  presentment  of  those  objects  these  faculties  act. 
The  idea,  for  instance,  of  a  being  in  distress  excites  the  ac- 
tion of  the  faculty  of  benevolence. 

The  perceptive,  knowing,  and  reflective  faculties,  con- 
stituting the  intellect,  become  active  from  three  causes :  1. 
From  internal  excitement  of  the  organs.  2.  Upon  the  pre- 
sentment of  external  objects  fitted  by  nature  to  excite  them. 
3.  By  acts  of  volition. 

When  excited  to  activity  all  the  faculties  possess  certain 
modes  of  acting  in  common.  The  first  of  these,  which  is 
confined  to  the  affective  faculties,  and  is  independent  of  will, 


380 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


is  sensation.     This  is  common  to  all  tlie  affective  faculties. 
It  is  thej  only  that  feel. 

The  perceptive,  knowing,  and  reflective  faculties,  that 
form  ideas  and  perceive  relations  have  the  following  modes 
of  action,  viz : 

1.  Perception,  which  occurs  on  the  presentment  of 
external  objects  in  their  nature  fitted  to  excite  them.  It  is 
independent  of  will.  Each  faculty  perceives  only  those 
kinds  of  qualities,  objects  and  relations,  which  it  was  ori- 
ginally formed  to  perceive.  When  these  same  intellectual 
faculties  are  active,  not  from  the  presentment  of  external 
objects,  but  from  the  internal  excitement  of  their  organs, 
the  second  mode  of  activity  occurs,  which  is : 

2.  Conception.  And  if  the  act  amounts  to  a  very  high 
degree  of  vivacity,  it  is  called  imagination.  Both  tliese 
reproduce  previous  perceptions.  Each  faculty  conceives 
and  imagines  within  its  own  appropriate  sphere.  When 
the  faculties  that  form  ideas  become  preternaturally  active 
through  a  morbid  excitement,  or  from  other  causes,  the 
objects  conceived  or  imagined  become  fixed,  are  invested 
with  a  fearful  reality,  and  thus  constitute  a  species  of 
insanity.  The  phenomena  of  apparitions,  or  spectral  illu- 
sions, are  explained  upon  tliese  principles.  It  is  the  con- 
ceptions formed  by  the  internal  activity  of  the  organs  that 
constitute  dreams.  The  activity  of  some  of  the  organs, 
accompanied  with  the  quiescent  state  of  others,  explains 
their  incongruity. 

When  the  intellectual  faculties  are  excited  to  action  by 
the  direct  influence  of  the  will,  there  occurs  the  third  mode 
of  activity,  viz : 

3.  Memory,  which  implies  past  time  and  a  consciousness 
of  the  previous  existence  of  the  ideas  recalled.  The  same 
faculty  that  originally  perceives  the  object,  quality,  or 
relation,  is  alone  instrumental  in  recalling  the  perception. 
Hence  the  great  diflerence  in  men  in  their  exercise  of  the 
power  of  recollection,  as  they  are  found  to  difler  greatly 
from  each  other  in  regard  to  the  extent  with  which  they 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


381 


are  endowed  with  the  perceptive,  knowing  and  reflective 
faculties. 

There  is  one  mode  of  activity  peculiar  to  the  reflective 
faculties,  and  that  is  : 

4.  Judgment,  which  results  from  a  powerful  development 
of  comparison  and  causality.  It  is  the  decision  of  the  re- 
flective faculties  upon  the  feelings  furnished  by  the  pro- 
pensities and  sentiments,  and  upon  the  ideas  furnished  by 
the  perceptive  and  knowing  ones.  In  estimating  the  effect 
of  the  reflective  faculties  in  ordinary  life,  the  phrenologists 
maintain  that  the  propensities  and  sentiments  furnish  the 
desires  which  prompt  to  action,  and  also  the  feelings  which 
regulate  conduct;  wliile  reflection,  without  being  able  to 
alter  their  nature,  judges  of  the  motives  presented  by  them 
to  its  consideration,  and  in  so  doing,  takes  in  an  extent  of 
view,  greater  or  less,  in  proportion  to  the  size  of  the 
intellectual  organs. 

Consciousness  means  the  knowledge  w^hich  the  mind  has 
of  its  own  existence  and  operations.  It  is  mind  re- 
cognizing itself  in  the  varieties  of  its  action.  It  is  no 
faculty  itself,  but  appertains  equally  to  every  fundamental 
faculty,  each  organ  communicating  consciousness  of  the 
feelings  and  ideas  which  it  serves  to  manifest. 

Association  expresses  the  mutual  influence  of  the  faculties 
upon  each  other.  It  is  claimed  that  there  are  no  laws  by 
which  ideas  may  be  associated  together,  "  that  one  may  as 
w^ell  expect  by  studying  the  forms  and  hues  of  the  clouds, 
which  flit  along  the  sky  to-day,  to  be  able  to  discover  laws, 
by  which  their  succession  will  be  regulated  to-morrow; 
as  by  reflecting  on  the  ideas  which  passin  one  mind,  to 
discover  links  of  association,  by  which  ideas  in  the  minds 
of  mankind,  in  general,  will  be  uniformly  connected,  and 
introduced  in  a  determinate  succession."  But  while  the 
phrenologist  repudiates  any  special  law  of  association 
among  ideas,  he  holds  that  the  powers  that  produce  them, 
the  faculties  themselves,  are  subject  to  association ;  that 
there  are  natural  associations  betwixt  certain  external  ob- 


382 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


jects  and  the  internal  faculties ;  and  that  artificial  associa- 
tions may  be  formed  betwixt  objects  and  feelings  of  the 
mind.  The  faculties  that  produce  propensities  and  senti- 
ments are  associated  with  those  that  are  productive  of 
ideas ;  as  the  conceiving  an  object  in  distress  excites  the 
faculty  of  benevolence.  Thus  association  becomes  the 
mutual  bond  through  which  the  action  of  one  faculty 
generates  the  activity  of  another.  The  perceptive,  knowing, 
and  reflective  faculties  are  associated  with,  and  mutually 
assist  each  other. 

Passion  is  the  highest  degree  of  activity  of  every  fa- 
culty. The  passions  may,  therefore,  be  as  numerous  as 
the  faculties,  and  their  kinds  as  various  as  their  different 
functions. 

It  has  been  objected  to  phrenology  that  the  science  of 
mind  it  proposes  is  essentially  based  on  materialism.  But 
an  attentive  examination  of  the  subject  will  convince  any 
one  that  there  is  nowhere  a  confounding  of  the  faculties 
with  their  organs;  that  no  phrenologist  anywhere  asserts 
that  mind  is  the  product  of  organization,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary Spurzheim  expressly  says:  "Both  Dr.  Gall,  and  I, 
have  always  declared  that  we  merely  observe  the  atiective 
and  intellectual  manifestations,  and  the  organic  conditions 
under  which  they  take  place  ;  and  that  in  using  the  word 
organs,  we  only  mean  the  organic  parts  by  means  of  which 
the  faculties  of  the  mind  become  apparent,  but  not  that 
these  constitute  the  mind."  ^o  one  will  deny  but  that  the 
brain  is  the  general  organ  of  the  mind,  in  the  sense  that 
the  powers  and  faculties  of  the  one  are  developed,  mani- 
fested, or  made  to  appear,  through  the  material  organization 
of  the  other.  In  precisely  the  same  way  the  phrenologist 
asserts  that  each  special  faculty  of  the  mind  exists  here 
in  connection  with  its  organ,  and  that  by  means  of  such 
connection  it  is  enabled  to  display  itself  in  the  perform- 
ance of  its  function.  If  this  be  materialism,  every  other 
system  of  metaphysics  must  be  amenable  to  the  same 
objection. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


383 


From  the  very  imperfect  idea  we  have  been  enabled  to 
give  of  the  doctrine  of  phrenology,  it  will  be  apparent  that 
the  same  character  of  remark  made  at  the  close  of  the 
Scottish  school  of  philosophy  applies  also  with  the  same,  or 
greater,  force  to  this.  It  makes  no  attempt  to  fathom  depths 
beyond  human  comprehension.  It  seeks  not  to  discover 
the  essence  of  mind  or  of  matter ;  but  regarding  man  as  he 
exists  in  this  sublunary  world,  proposes  merely  to  investi- 
gate the  laws  which  regulate  the  connection  between  the 
organs  of  the  mind,  and  the  faculties  which  are  manifested 
through  those  organs.  Those  faculties,  all  must  admit,  are 
to  be  found  in  the  mind,  and  the  phrenologist  asserts  in 
connection  with  the  special  organs  in  and  through  which 
they  were  designed  to  be  manifested.  It  is  in  the  special 
functions  of  these  faculties;  in  their  connection  with  their 
respective  organs;  and  in  their  general  modes  of  operation, 
that  the  phrenologist  claims  that  he  has  brought  to  light 
important  truths  not  only  bearing  upon  physiology  and 
psychology,  but  also  upon  man  in  his  social  and  moral  re- 
lations, and  upon  mind  in  the  multiplied  forms  of  disease 
to  which  it  may  be  subject,  and  also  upon  the  criminal 
jurisprudence  of  the  nations  of  the  world. 


The  German  School:  Critical  Philosophy  —  KanL 

The  CRITICAL  PHILOSOPHY  of  the  German  school  is  an- 
other rebound  from  the  skepticism  of  Hume.  Its  exponent 
is  Emmanuel  Kant,  born  at  Konigsberg,  in  Prussia,  in  1724, 
and  died  in  1804.     He  was  the  contemporary  of  Reid. 

The  point  of  rebound,  which  produced  the  Scottish 
school,  was  that  of  annihilation  of  the  material  and  mental 
worlds.     Hence  the  idea  of  the  duality  of  consciousness. 

The  point  of  rebound*,  which  gave  origin  to  the  critical 
philosophy,  was  the  denial  of  all  necessary  connection  be- 
tween successive  events  the  principle  of  causality.  Hence 
the  resort  to  original  necessary  truths,  the  recognition,  by 
philosophy,  of  the  rationalistic  element. 


384 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


385 


The  two  points,  two  problems,  presented  by  Hume,  one 
regarding  the  existence  of  the  material  and  mental  worlds, 
the  other  the  reality  of  cause,  were  to  be  met  and  solved. 
Hume  had  presented  them,  and  defined  them  so  sharply 
that  no  one  could  avoid  them.  He  had  marked  out  the 
road  that  would  not  lead  to  their  solution.  It  remained 
for  those  who  might  follow,  to  find  a  new  road,  to  present  a 
new  solution.  We  have  seen  in  what  manner  the  philo- 
sophy of  common  sense  has  done  it.  It  now  remains  to  exa- 
mine the  critical  philosophy. 

This  philosophy  had  its  origin  in  Kant,  as  the  empirical 
had  in  Bacon.  The  former  took  the  same  position  with 
regard  to  experience  and  human  knowledge  that  the  latter 
had  taken  with  respect  to  nature.  To  the  former  came  for 
explanation  the  facts  of  experience  ;  to  the  latter,  the  facts 
of  nature.  The  explanation  of  a  fact  is  the  showing  under 
all  circumstances,  the  conditions  under  which  it  occurs. 
These  must  necessarily  precede  the  fact,*  and  be  sought 
before  the  fact  itself.  The  only  knowledge  known  and 
acknowledged  by  Hume,  and  by  the  great  majority  of  philo- 
sophers, was  an  empirical  knowledge.  Descartes  and 
Leibnitz,  it  is  true,  had  taught  difterently,  but  the  former 
had  insisted  upon  innate  ideas,  and  the  latter  had  given  only 
scattered  hints,  which,  although  they  no  doubt  had  their 
influence  upon  the  German  mind,  were,  nevertheless,  not 
wrought  into  a  perfect  system. 

It  remained,  therefore,  for  Kant  to  seek  out  and  explain 
the  conditions  of  empirical  knowledge.  Where  was  he  to 
seek  and  find  them  ?  The  German  metaphysicians  had 
gone  above  knowledge,  and  sought  its  conditions  in  innate 
ideas,  and  failed  to  find  them  there.  The  English  and 
French  sensualists  had  them  in  knowledge  itself  with  a  like 
failure.  Kant  sought  them  before  knowledge.  He  sought 
the  powers  and  faculties  of  knowledge,  which  in  action  con- 
stitute experience.     Those  conditions,  which  as  necessary 


. 


nW 


'  Fischer,  497. 


functions,  precede  experience,  he  called  *'  transcendental." 
Thus  what  Kant  supposed  to  be  prior  to  knowledge  is  not 
itself  knowledge,*  but  consists  of  the  knowledge-forming 
faculties,  that  in  themselves  are  empty.  These  pure  facul- 
ties he  denominated  the  *'pure  reason."  Thus  we  pass 
from  the  tabula  rasa  of  Locke,  and  the  "  innate  idea  "  of 
Descartes  and  Leibnitz,  to  the  "  pure  reason,"  the  aggre- 
gate of  powers  and  knowledge-forming  faculties  that  con- 
stitute man  as  man,  that  give  the  essence  of  humanity. 

Bacon  discovered  empirical  philosophy  in  seeking  the 
necessary  laws  of  nature,  and  Kant  the  critical  in  the 
necessary  laws  of  experience.  It  is  the  great  merit  claimed 
by  Kant  that  he  brought  experience  to  the  test  of  higher 
laws;  that  he  found  something  fixed  and  permanent  to 
which  he  could  anchor  its  fluctuating  phenomena;  some- 
thing necessarj^  by  which  to  rule  and  govern  the  contingent. 

Kant  started  with  the  same  objects  as  Locke  had  done 
before  him.  The  purpose  of  the  latter  was  to  investigate 
the  powers  and  limits  of  the  human  understanding.  That 
of  the  former  to  "search  into  the  true  origin  of  ourideas,^ 
and  to  define  the  proper  boundaries  of  human  knowledge." 
But  although  starting  with  the  same  general  objects  in 
view,  yet  the  roads  they  pursued  were  entirely  dififerent. 

The  great  endeavor  of  Locke  was  to  deduce  the  laws,  or 
more  properly  the  necessity  of  thinking,  from  external  ob- 
jects, the  objective.  The  foundation  upon  which  Locke 
rested  was,  that  our  ideas  were  representation,  produced  by 
outward  objects,  and  are  only  truthful,  if  and  in  so  far  as 
they  owe  their  origin  to  outward  objects,  and  are  not  pro- 
duced by  ourselves.  This,  we  have  seen,  led  to  two  results, 
both  legitimate;  the  one  materialistic,  the  other  skeptical. 
The  latter  had  been  pushed  by  Hume  into  its  ultimate 
consequences,  and  in  the  denial  of  cause  and  efifect  the 
foundation  of  all  knowledge  was  destroyed. 


»  Mscher,  498.    *  Morell,  154. 
VI]  49 


386 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Kant  affirmed  the  skepticism  of  Hume.  Upon  Hume's 
ground,  taken  from  Locke,  that  experience  was  the  only 
source  of  knowledge,  he  admitted  that  there  was  between 
successive  events  no  necessary  connection.  But  he  made 
the  origin  of  experience  itself  tlie  object  of  investigation, 
to  ascertain  under  what  conditions  its  developments  were 
made,  and  to  what  laws  they  were  subject.  Instead,  there- 
fore, of  going  into  the  objects  of  knowledge,  and  educing 
from  them  a  system  of  philosophy,  Kant  went  into  the  con- 
sideration of  the  mind,  the  subjective;  criticizing  its  facul- 
ties, determining  its  capacities  and  seeking  after  those  laws, 
or  conditions,  upon  which  the  verity  of  all  knowledge 
reposes.  His  primary  division  of  all  mental  phenomena 
is  threefold,  the  same  in  substance  as  that  adopted  from 
him  by  Sir  William  Hamilton.     These  are  : 


Kant. 

1.  Knowing, 

2.  Feeling, 

3.  Desire  and  Will, 


Sir  William  Hamilton. 
Cognitive  Faculties. 
Feeling  Faculties. 
Conative  Faculties. 


All  these  faculties  have  their  ground,  origin,  cause,  or 
media,  in  or  through  which  they  are  enabled  to  act,  in 
three  great  sources:  the  sensory;  the  understanding; 
the  reason.  Of  these  the  first  has  its  intuitions ;  the  second 
is  conceptions  formed  under  its  categories ;  and  the  third 
its  ideas. 

As  in  the  ideas  of  the  latter  are  found  intelligence,  unity 
and  identity  rendering  it  the  highest  in  the  scale,  Kant 
divides  that  into  :  the  theoretical  reason,  and  the  practical 
reason.  In  the  former  are  contained  the  principles  of 
knowledge ;  in  the  latter  those  of  desire  and  will.  And 
to  unite  the  two  together  is  required :  the  judgment, 
which  term,  however,  is  here  employed  in  a  difterent  sense 
from  that  ordinarily  in  use.  Hence  the  three  critics  of 
Kant : 

1.  The  critic  of  the  pure — theoretical  — reason. 

2.  The  critic  of  the  practical  reason. 

3.  The  critic  of  the  judgment. 


■' 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


387 


4^ 


It  is  mainly  iu  the  first  that  the  knowledge-problem  is 
sought  to  be  solved,  and  that  in  a  manner  different  from 
any  ever  before  devised. 

To  the  existence  of  all  our  cognitions,  notions,  or  ideas, 
two  factors,  as  they  are  termed,  are  essential,  viz :  The 
sensory  and  the  understanding.  These  are  commonly 
called  the  two  factors  of  all  knowledge,  or,  as  Kant  has 
termed  them,  the  two  stacks  of  our  knowledge,  whether 
springing  from  a  common  root,  or  not,  we  may  never  be 
able  to  determine. 

The  operation  singly  of  either  one  of  these  factors  would 
be  entirely  unproductive,  and  accomplish  nothing.  It  is 
in  the  contributions  of  each,  and  the  union  of  both,  that 
we  are  to  seek  for  the  result.  The  sensor  brings  the  matter, 
the  bare  material,  of  which  our  sensous  cognitions  are 
formed.     That  is  all  it  can  furnish. 

The  elements  thus  contributed  by  this  factor,  are  to  have 
added  to  them,  or  woven  about  them  connections,  rela- 
tions, forms.  They  are  to  become  conceptions  of  the 
understanding  formed  under  its  categories.  These  came 
entirely  from  within,  and  belong,  therefore,  to  the  subjective 
element.  It  is  this  that  can  alone  furnish  the  form  under, 
or  in  obedien-ce  to  which,  cognitions  take  place.  By 
destroying  the  sensor  factor,  therefore,  no  material  could 
be  furnished,  and  by  annihilating  the  understanding  factor, 
the  very  conditions  under  which  experience  becomes  pos- 
sible would  be  rendered  of  no  effect.  The  first  is  receptive 
in  its  character;  the  second  spontaneous.  The  receptivity 
of  the  one  induces  the  spontaniety  of  the  other.  It  is  when 
the  intuitions  of  the  one  become  clothed  with  the  4  priori 
connections,  relations  or  forms  furnished  by  the  other,  that 
an  idea  or  cognition  becomes  perfect. 

As  an  illustration.  Events  in  succession  are  presented 
by  the  sensor  factor,  but  nothing  more.  They  are  intui- 
tions. But  on  tlie  perception  of  successive  events  arises 
the  conception  of  a  cause.  This  is  the  principle  of  caus- 
ality, and  comes  from  the  understanding.     It  is  that  factor 


388 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


supplying  the  connection,  relation,  form  ;  and  this,  together 
with  the  facts,  gives  the  perfect  idea.  The  intuitions, 
without  the  form,  are  totally  blind,  and  wholly  lacking  in 
significance.  And  so  also  the  form,  the  conception  of  the 
understanding,  without  the  intuition,  would  be  empty, 
amounting  to  nothing. 

Kant  investigates  the  understanding  in  order  to  deter- 
mine all  the  modes  or  forms  of  the  judgment  of  which  it 
is  susceptible,  and  these  he  proposes  to  be  exhaustive. 
They  are  four  in  number :  1.  Quantity.  2.  Quality.  3. 
Relation.  4.  Modality.  The  first  embraces  judgments 
which  are  individual,  particular,  universal.  The  second 
those  which  are  afiirmative,  negative  and  limitative.  The 
third  those  which  are  categorical,  hypothetic  and  disjunc- 
tive ;  and  the  fourth  those  which  are  problematical,  asser- 
tory and  necessary. 

From  these  modes  of  the  judgment  are  derived  the  fol- 
lowing categories : 


Quantity 


Quality    •* 


Relation 


Modality 


''  Unity 
Plurality 
Universality 

Reality 

Negation 

Limitation 

Substance  and  accident 
Causality  and  dependence 
Action  and  reaction 

f  Possibility  and  impossibility 
Existence  and  nonexistence 
L  Necessity  and  contingence 


Thus  we  have  twelve  categories  under  the  frame-work 
of  which  are  conceived  all  the  notions  of  which  we  are  sus- 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


389 


ceptible.  These  are  the  conditions  standing  before  all 
knowledge.  They  supply  the  connections,  relations,  forms 
in  which  all  intuitions  are  clothed.  They  are  all  k  priori 
in  their  character.  They  are  neither  influenced  nor  modi- 
fied by  any  intuition,  but  are  called  into  action  by  those 
intuitions  which  are  fitted  to  excite  them  to  activity.  They 
have  the  characteristic  of  laws;  of  laws  that  preside  over 
experience,  and  that  govern  the  intuitions  which  it  pun- 
ishes. The  attributes  that  belong  to  them,  and  are  deve- 
loped by  their  action,  are  universality  and  necessity. 

These  are  the  machinery  of  the  understanding ;  but,  like 
all  machinery,  they  are  empty  of  themselves,  and  only  be- 
come productive  of  efl^ects  when  the  proper  material  is 
brought  within  the  sphere  of  its  action.  This  material  is 
the  intuitions  furnished  by  the  sensor  factor.  These  intui- 
tions arise  upon  the  presentation  of  phenomena  to  the  sen- 
sory. The  inquiry  is  made  by  Kant  whether  the  sensor 
fiictor  has  not  also  its  categories,  or  forms  of  its  intuitions, 
as  well  as  the  understanding ;  and  these  he  finds  upon  in- 
vestigation to  be  two  in  number,  viz :  space  and  time. 
These  are  not  termed  by  Kant  categories,  but  general  sche- 
mata, or  forms  of  sensuous  intuition.  The  warrant  for  this 
is  found  in  consciousness.  The  moment  any  intuition  gives 
us  a  perception  we  feel  constrained  to  place  it  in  some  space, 
and  in  a  given  time.  These  are  as  essential  to  the  intui- 
tion as  the  categories  of  the  understanding  are  to  the 
conception.  They  are  the  conditions  which  precede  the 
possibility  of  experiencing  any  perception.  They  are, 
therefore,  ^  priori  in  their  character,  and  are  the  modes  in 
which  the  soul  behaves  itself  when  in  a  state  of  intuition. 
Space  belongs  to  the  external  sense,  and  time  to  the  inter- 
nal. By  the  former  objects  external  to  ourselves  become 
intuitions.  By  the  latter,  the  facts  of  our  own  internal -con- 
sciousness. We  arrive  at  the  former  by  abstracting  every- 
thing belonging  to  the  matter  of  our  sensations;  and  at  the 
latter  by  abstracting  everything  belonging  to  the  matter  of 
our  inner  sense.     These  schemata,  according  to  Kant,  stand 


iiimliiiiiliiilii- 


390 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


on  a  kind  of  middle  ground  between  the  categories  and 
the  intuitions,  having  something  in  common  with  each.  In 
their  k  priori  character  they  are  assiraihited  to  the  catego- 
ries, and  in  the  fact  that  everything  phenomenal  must  be 
represented  in  space  or  time  they  find  their  relations  with 
intuitions.  It  is  through  them  that  we  are  enabled  to  apply 
the  conceptions  formed  under  the  categories  to  phenomena. 

The  inquiry  naturally  suggests  itself  here  as  to  what  is 
subjective  and  objective  in  our  cognitions.  Everything  pun- 
uished  k  priori  must  come  from  the  mind,  is  subjective,  while 
everything  a  posteriori  conies  from  the  object,  and  is  objec- 
tive. The  conditions,  connections,  relations,  forms  of 
thought,  as  also  space  and  time,  all  proclaim  the  notion 
forming  process  to  be  subjective.  What  is  there  remaining 
that  can  belong  to  the  object  ?  Its  whole  appearance  and 
contents,  as  presented  in  idea,  is  subjective,  and  we  have 
nothing  that  we  can  figure  to  ourselves  as  being  a  quality  of 
the  object  itself.  All  we  can  certainly  give  credit  to  as  an  k 
posteriori  is  the  actual  phenomenon  and  its  presence  at  the 
time  of  the  cognition.  It  must  also  have  conceded  to  it  the 
power  of  causing  the  formation  of  conceptions  by  the  un- 
derstanding, but  aside  from  an  existing  phenomenon  and 
such  a  power,  which  again  is  entirely  subjective  in  its 
effect,  we  are,  and  must  forever,  remain  in  utter  and  hope- 
less ignorance  of  any  qualities  that  may  lie  back  of  the 
phenomenon  and  belong  to  the  object  itself.  Even  Kant 
has  somewliere  thrown  out  the  conjecture  whether  the  ego 
and  the  thing  in  itself  may  not  possibly  be  the  same  think- 
ing substance.  Thus  the  Kantian  system  must  fail  to  show 
us  the  road,  so  often  sought  in  vain,  that  leads  from  the 
subjective  to  the  objective. 

In  reference  to  the  occurrence  of  phenomena,  Kant  states 
the  following  principles  as  the  postulates  of  empirical 
thinking:  "1.  That  which  coincides  with  the  formal  con- 
ditions of  experience  is  possible^  and  can  become  pheno- 


*  Sckwegle,  245. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


391 


menon.  2.  That  which  agrees  with  the  material  condi- 
tions of  experience  is  actual  and  is  phenomenon.  3.  That, 
whose  connection  with  the  actual  is  determined  according 
to  the  universal  conditions  of  experience,  is  necessary,  and 
must  be  phenomenon." 

We  have  hitherto  been  limited  to  the  sensory  and  the 
understanding.  Superadded  to  these  is  the  reason,  the 
faculty  of  the  unconditioned.  As  the  categories  of  the 
understanding  bring  order  and  connection  into  our  intui- 
tions, so  is  it  the  province  of  the  reason  to  infuse  unity 
and  connection  into  the  conceptions  of  the  understanding. 
This  it  does  by  drawing  conclusions.^ 

The  reason  has  its  ideas,  and  these  by  exhibiting  to  the 
understanding  the  unconditioned,  that  perfectness  which 
is  its  great  aim,  imparts  to  it  something  beyond  what  expe- 
rience could  ever  furnish.  The  reason  has  as  many  ideas 
as  we  have  ways  of  connecting  together  our  judgments 
into  conclusions.  These  are  three  in  number:  1.  The 
categorical.  2.  The  hypothetical.  3.  The  disjunctive. 
The  first  gives  the  relationship  of  substance  and  accident. 
The  second,  that  of  ground  and  consequence.  The  third 
that  of  parts  and  a  whole. 

The  question  may  be  asked  whether  reason  can  be  iso- 
lated from  the  understanding,  and  become,  of  itself  a 
source  of  notions  and  judgments.  The  reply  is,  that  rea- 
son, being  different  from  the  understanding,  may  be  sepa- 
rated and  isolated.^  That  to  the  understanding  belongs 
experience,  and  to  the  reason  the  perfecting  of  our  subjec- 
tive consciousness.  That  while  the  understanding  furnishes 
the  subjective  laws  of  thinking  as  applied  to  experience, 
and  depending  on  the  sense  world  for  confirmation  and 
material,  the  reason,  having  to  do  with  ideas,  "  is  occupied 
with  itself  alone  and  ruminates  on  its  own  notions."  As 
the  cognitions  of  the  understanding  are  furnished  in  expe- 
rience, so  its  principles  may  look  to  that  for  confirmation, 


*  Chalybaus,  52.    "  Idem,  55. 


392 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


7 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


393 


while  the  ideas  of  the   reason,  not  having  been  given  by 
experience,  cannot  be  confirmed  or  refuted  by  it. 

The  relations  between  the  reason  and  the  understanding, 
under  the  Kantian  system,  are  very  well  set  forth  by  Jacob 
as  the  special  terms  of  agreement  between  the  two. 
"Eeason,"  says  he,  "is  to  forbid  to  the  understanding  all 
power  of  denying,  and  understanding  to  reason  all  power 
of  aflfirming.^  Reason  is  to  acknowledge  and  respect  the 
understanding,  and  to  be  kept  by  it  within  positive  limits. 
But  the  limitation  of  the  understanding,  by  reason,  is  only 
to  appearance  and  negative,  and  the  former  without  sur- 
rendering its  own  proper  activity,  employs  the  ideas  of 
reason  for  the  purpose  of  enlarging  as  much  as  possible  its 
own  province.  Reason  occupies  the  upper,  understanding 
the  lower  house.  It  is  the  latter  whicli  represents  sensi- 
bility, the  real  seat  of  sovereignty,  without  the  ratification 
of  which  nothing  can  possess  any  validity.  " 

From  the  three  ideas  of  the  reason,  before  mentioned, 
the  categorical,  the  hypothetical,  and  the  disjunctive,  giving 
rise  to  the  three  relationships  of  substance  and  accident, 
ground  and  consequence,  parts  and  whole,  three  avenues 
are  opened  up:  the  first  to  absolute  sulyect,  the  immortal 
soul;  the  second  the  idea  of  nature  or  world;  the  third, 
that  of  the  most  perfect  being,  God :  the  first  aftbrding  the 
rational  psychology ;  the  second  cosmology ;  and  the  third 
theology.  And  yet  when  the  reason  attempts  to  apply 
the  categories  of  the  understanding  to  the  unconditioned, 
it  ends  in  paralogism,  illusion ;  or  in  antinomies,  contra-  ' 
dictions. 

For  instance,  as  regards  the  first,  the  absolute  subject, 
the  immortal  soul,  its  conceptions  and  feelings  being  its 
accidents,  its  own  mere  modifications  and  changes  ought 
to  proclaim  a  something  really  existing  at  the  foundation, 
a  pure  subject,  whose  existence  is  evidenced  by  conscious- 
ness.    But  Kant  replies  that  this  is  a  paralogism,  because 


\ 


the  consciousness  is  really  limited  to  the  modifications  and 
changes,  the  conceptions  and  feelings,  and  can  give  a 
knowledge  of  nothing  beyond  these.  The  subject  itself  re- 
mains unknown,  never  being  the  object  either  of  external  or 
internal  experience.  We  know  as  little,  according  to  Kant, 
of  the  essence  of  our  souls  as  of  that  of  external  objects. 

The  same  attempt  of  reason  to  educe  a  pure  cosmology 
leads  to  antinomies,  inasmuch  as  reason  can  neither  conceive 
that  the  world  had  a  commencement  in  time,^  nor  that  it 
had  not;  neither  that  it  has   or  has  not  a  limitation   iu 
space.     This  and  other  contradictions  always  present  them- 
selves whenever  the  forms  of  the  finite  are  sought  to  be 
transported  into  the  infinite,  or  to  make  an  application  of 
the  infinite  to  the  finite.     The  real  character  of  the  one  we 
can  never  change  into  the  other.     The  world,  and  every- 
thing about  it,  is  finite,  and   we   can    never   change   its 
character,  never  clothe  it  with  the  forms  of  the  infinite. 
The  formula  which  could  embrace  the  infinite  with  the 
finite,  keeping  the  two  united  without  identifying  them, 
could  never  be  found  by  Kant.^ 

The  search  made  by  reason  after  an  all  perfect  being, 
God,  is  equally  unsuccessful.  It  is  urged  here,  that  it  is 
impossible  to  destroy  such  a  being  in  our  thinking,  and 
hence  his  existence  must  necessarily  remain.  But  Kant 
replies  that  here  one  of  two  things  must  be  true.  Either : 
1.  This  being  is  identical  with  our  thinkingj  and  then  does 
not  exist  in  and  by  itself;  or,  2.  He  is  not  identical  with  it, 
and  then  to  destroy  or  take  him  away  will  not  involve 
any  contradiction  with  our  thinking. 

In  the  first  part  of  the  alternative,  Kant  was  treading  on 
the  very  verge  of  pantheism,  so  very  near  that  some  of  his 
followers  readily  passed  over,  and  identified  thought  with 
existence,  subject  with  object. 

The  argument  of  inferring  the  existence  of  God  from  the 
traces  of  design  everywhere  observable  in  creation,  can,  ac- 


*  Chalyhaiis,  57,  58. 


» Clmlyhaus,  61.    » Idem,  63. 
VI]  50 


394 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


cording  to  Kant,  lay  no  claim  to  absolute  certainty ;  because 
the  only  inference  authorized  to  be  drawn  is  that  from 
analogy  of  human  works/  God  can  only  be  the  author 
of  the  form  of  the  world,  and  not  of  its  substance  or 
matter;  as  simply  an  architect,  but  not  as  creator,  nor  as 
an  original  essence.  Another  answer  is  that  from  all  this 
order  and  design,  the  inference  may  be  a  law  of  life  in- 
herent in  nature,  and  operating  blindly  in  the  production 

of  results. 

Thus  the  theoretical,  or  pure  reason,  leaves  man  forever 
to  grope  his  way  in  the  sphere  of  the  conditioned  without 
a  rational  psychology,  cosmology,  or  theology,  without 
any  real  light  from  reason  relating  either  to  the  soul,  the 
world,  or  to  God.  Although  it  makes  the  strongest  possi- 
ble eflbrts  towards  the  apprehension  of  each  one  of  these, 
yet  being  tied  down  to  the  categories  of  the  understanding, 
and  these  again  acting  upon  the  sensor  intuitions,  all  such 
effects  are,  and  ever  must  be,  utterly  unavailing.  This 
brings  us : 

2.  To  the  critic  of  the  practical  reason,  where  the  de- 
ficiencies of  the  theoretical  are  sought  to  be  supplied.  We 
leave  the  sphere  of  knowledge  with  the  theoretical  or  pure 
reason,  and  with  the  practical  enter  that  of  rational  faith. 
Here  we  find  certainty,  but  it  dlfiers  from  knowledge.  We 
have  here  no  cognitions.  We  are  amidst  the  principles  of 
ethics. 

Kant,  to  be  consistent  with  himself,  could  only  acknow- 
ledge a  moral  philosophy  sufiicient  to  lead  the  soul  to 
itself,  to  the  world,  and  to  God,  when  it  was  purged  of 
every  empirical  element.  The  ethical  element  embraces 
not  what  is,  which  is  derived  from  the  empirical,  but  what 
ought  to  be,  which  should  come  from  the  rational. 

As  the  essential  condition  of  all  ethical  evolution,  Kant 
evokes  the  principle  of  liberty  "  that  innermost  and  highest 


*  ChcUybaus,  69. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


395 


principle  of  our  soul,  which  it  was  felt  impossible  to  grasp 
as  substance,  and  as  me  in  theoretical  reason."^  This  he 
constituted  as  the  centre  of  gravity  of  his  entire  system. 
As  the  supersensual  and  the  unconditioned  had  escaped  the 
utmost  reaching  of  the  theoretical  reason,  so  he  here  com- 
menced by  leaving  the  principle  of  freedom  completely 
void,  undetermined,  and  abstract.  He  gives  it  no  deter- 
mined character,  no  fixed  organization.  It  is  at  bottom 
simply  unlimited  and  unconditioned  freedom,  going  forth 
from  itself  indetermined  into  that  which  is  external,  and 
taking  from  it  its  shape  and  character.  The  inclinations 
and  desires,  what  are  termed  by  Kant  the  contents  of  this 
freedom,  are  derived  from  the  empirical  principle.  With 
these  it  has  to  contend,  and  out  of  this  contest  are  virtue 
and  morality  born.  To  be  free  it  is  requisite  to  set  aside 
natural  desires,  and  to  practice  that  which  is  right  only  be- 
cause it  is  right,  and  not  because  it  may  accord  with  incli- 
nation. This  is  termed  by  Kant  the  "  law  of  the  categorical 
imperative,"  and  is  engaged  in  a  continuous  opposition 
against  the  external.^ 

There  is,  therefore,  according  to  Kant,  a  possible  moral 
law,  and  out  of  an  entire  obedience  to  it  arises  the  possi- 
bility of  a  perfect  virtue,  and  from  this  last  a  perfect  hap- 
piness. 

From  the  possibility  of  the  moral  law  he  derives  the  reality 
of  the  idea  of  freedom  ;  ^  from  that  of  a  perfect  virtue  the 
idea  of  the  soul's  immortality ;  and  from  the  necessary 
demand  of  a  perfect  happiness,  the  idea  of  God.  !N'either 
the  soul's  immortality,  nor  the  idea  of  God  are  matters  of 
cognition.  They  have  no  existence  in  thought.  They 
belong  purely  to  feeling,  and  their  recognition  in  that  is 
conditioned  upon  the  fact:  that  in  that  is  apprehended 
freedom  which  it  given  to  us  k  priori,  as  an  inner  fact,  a 
fact  of  the  inner  experience;  arising  in  ourselves,  and 
having  nothing  to  do  with  our  outward  experience. 


'  Chalyhmis,  72.    ""  Idem,  73.     '  Schwegle,  258. 


396 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


397 


But  in  passing  out  of  its  own  charmed  circle  it  encoun- 
ters on  the  one  hand  the  law  of  the  categorical  imperative, 
which  flows  from  the  reason  ;  and  on  the  other,  the  desires 
and  inclinations,  which,  as  they  arise  from  the  experience 
of  what  is  felt  as  pleasing  or  displeasing,  are  due  to  an 
empirical  origin. 

It  is  obvious  from  this  statement,  that  at  least  in  one 
view  of  it,  the  ethics  of  Kant  cannot  be  regarded  as  purely 
rationalistic,  but  that  the  empirical  is  mixed  up  with  the 
rational  in  his  theory.  To  escape  from  it  we  are  driven 
back,  and  limited  to  the  principle  of  pure  freedom,  and  are 
obliged  to  recognize  in  tliat  the  very^  centre  of  gravitation 
in  Kant's  entire  svstem.  Around  this  revolves  virtue, 
happiness,  the  soul's  immortality  and  God.  But  it  has,  at 
least,  this  impediment  and  obstruction,  that  in  passing  out 
of  itself  it  meets  a  nature,  and  empiricism,  something 
external,  which,  upon  the  system  of  Kant,  had  baflled  all 
the  powers  of  cognition  to  make  its  acquaintance,  and 
which  now  presents  itself  as  an  equal  barrier  to  the  will. 
An  intelligence  should  be  invoked  sufficient  to  comprehend 
the  objective,  to  recognize  in  external  nature  something 
more  than  phenomena,  before  man  can  stand  forth  an 
object  comprehensible  to  himself. 

Kant  himself  felt  that  there  was  a  gap  left  between  his 
theoretical  and  practical  reason.  The  one  had  built  up  a 
world  of  conceptions  by  applying  categories  to  the  intui- 
tions of  sense ;  while  the  other  had  constructed  a  moral 
world,  having  for  its  key-note  the  principle  of  freedom. 
Where  lay  the  road  from  the  one  to  the  other?  This 
introduces  his  third  division,  viz  : 

3.  Critic  of  the  faculty  of  judgment,  which  is  the  middle 
link  between  the  understanding  as  the  faculty  of  concep- 
tions, and  the  reason  as  the  faculty  of  principles. 

The  principle  of  freedom,  in  order  to  be  such,  must 
exercise  an  influence  upon  nature.  But  nature  proceeds 
necessarily,  and  in  accordance  with  its  own  laws.     As  the 


T 
I 


one,  therefore,  is  apparently  w^holly  independent  of  the 
other,  the  inquiry  naturally  arises  how  the  two  can  be  con- 
nected together. 

The  link  by  which  this  is  effected  is  found  in  the  feelings, 
those  especially  of  pleasure  and  pain,  those  which  we  have 
seen  entering  the  domain  of  freedom,  and  contesting  with 
the  law  of  the  categorical  imperative,  the  domination  over 
the  will.  This  is  accomplished  by  what  Kant  calls  the 
faculty  of  judgment. 

The  object  of  this  faculty  may  be  briefly  expressed  as  the 
conception  of  design  in  nature.  It  is  found  in  the  agree- 
ment or  fitness  of  means  to  ends.  This  is  developed  in  the 
actions  of  free  beings,  and  is  susceptible  of  transference 
into  the  actions  of  nature  by  a  conception  of  the  union  of 
nature  with  the  freedom  which  acts  in  it  and  by  it. 

The  faculty  of  judgment  —  the  latter  term  having  here  a 
different  meaning  from  that  ordinarily  given  to  it  —  has  two 
modes  of  operation.  By  means  of  one  mode  it  takes  into 
consideration  that  concurrence  of  means  in  the  forms  of 
things,  and  of  means  to  ends,  and  all  those  admirable 
arrangements  in  creation  which  give  rise  to  the  sentiment 
of  pleasure,  which  develop  in  our  nature  the  esthetical. 
Here  we  have  his  theory  of  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  both 
being  purely  subjective  in  their  nature. 

The  beautiful  is  found  by  Kant  in  the  consciousness  of 
an  ability  we  possess  to  bring  that  vast  variety  which  the 
imagination  represents  to  us  to  one  idea  of  the  understand- 
ing. As  one  great  regulative  process  of  the  reason  is  to 
unify,  and  as  the  exercise  of  its  function  is  always  attended 
with  pleasure,  so  the  perception  of  unity  in  the  midst  of 
variety  always  gives  rise  to  a  pleasant  sensation.  There  is 
also  accompanying  it  the  sentiment  of  our  own  power  in 
successful  exercise,  and  this  accompaniment  gives  addi- 
tional satisfaction. 

The  sentiment  of  the  sublime,  on  the  contrary,  arises 
out  of  the  consciousness  of  our  utter  inability  to  embrace 
by  any  eftbrt  of  imagination  ideas  which  the  reason  presents 


398 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


to  U8.^  The  immeiisitj  of  this  disproportion  in  our  power 
is  accompanied  with  a  feeling  of  sadness,  as  it  gives  us  a 
realizing  sense  of  our  weakness.  But  it  is  also  accom- 
panied by  a  feeling  of  exaltation  because  we  feel  ourselves 
superior  by  our  reason  to  the  world  of  sensible  things. 

The  other  mode  by  which  this  faculty  acts  is  termed  by 
Kant  the  teleological.  It  is  this  judgment  which  seeks  to 
penetrate  the  inner  design  of  nature,  and  to  understand 
for  what  purpose  that  design  develops  itself  in  organic  pro- 
ducts. It  carries  into  the  theory  of  nature  the  principle  of 
final  causes,  or  the  relation  of  means  to  ends,  applied  not 
to  the  forms,  but  to  the  real  constitution  of  things.  In 
nature's  organic  product  it  regards  every  one  of  its  parts 
as  end,  and  every  one  also  as  means  or  instrument.  "  In 
the  process  of  generation,  the  natural  product  appears  as 
species,^  in  growth  it  appears  as  individual,  and  in  the 
process  of  complete  formation,  every  part  of  the  individual 
shows  itself."  In  view  of  this  judgment  beings  are  organ- 
ized to  attain  certain  particular  ends,  and  each  special 
organization  is  to  be  regarded  as  a  dependence  of  a  general 
organization  of  nature  in  which  particular  ends  are  only 
the  means  of  a  supreme  and  universal  end. 

The  philosophy  of  Kant  obviously  leaves  the  great  life 
problem  wholly  unsolved.  He  marks  out  no  pathway  from 
the  subjective  to  the  objective.  In  fact,  he  annihilates  the 
objective  by  denying  that  any  of  tlie  qualities  of  things  in 
themselves  are  brought  to  our  minds.  We  are  living  accord- 
ing to  him,  in  a  phenomenal  w^orld,  those  phenomena  being 
the  intuitions  of  the  sense  as  moulded  and  made  such  by 
the  categories  of  the  understanding.  By  attributing  to 
these  categories  such  great  and  general  powers,  and  by 
investing  them  with  the  qualities  of  universality  and  neces- 
sity, he  in  effect  surrenders  nature  up  to  mind,  and  verges 
hard  on  upon  a  terrible  idealism,  an  entire  absorption  of  all 
the  outward  creation  into  mind. 


*  HUtory  of  PhUo8(^}hy,  u,  109,  110.     '"'  Sehwegle,  267. 


EUROPE  -  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


399 


His  attempted  deduction  of  the  immortal  soul  and  of 
God  from  the  practical  reason  betrays  the  weakness  of  his 
system,  because  the  theoretical  reason  is  the  only  possible 
avenue  to  knowledge,  and  the  practical  can  have  no  other 
basis  than  in  the  ideas  borrowed  from  it.  Hence  if  in  the 
theoretical  he  furnishes  the  intelligence  with  no  means  of 
arriving  at  these  great  truths,  he  shuts  out  the  being  forever 
from  any  apprehension  of  them. 

We  ought  not,  however,  to  be  unmindful  of  the  great 
merits  of  Kant.  He  was  a  great  and  profound  thinker. 
His  system  furnishes  the  evidence  of  more  deep,  continuous, 
systematic  and  elaborate  thinking  than  that  of  any  pre- 
vious modern,  and,  perhaps,  ancient  philosopher.  He  took 
much  clearer  distinctions  than  any  before  him  of  the  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  mental  operations,  and  sought  to  mark  out, 
by  clear  and  definite  boundaries,  the  empires  respectively 
of  the  sense,  the  understanding  and  the  reason.  By  marking 
out  clearly  the  line  of  demarkation  between  the  conceptions 
of  the  understanding  and  the  intuitions  of  sense,  and  by 
attaching  to  the  latter  the  qualities  of  the  varied,  limited, 
contingent,  and  to  the  former  those  of  universality  and 
necessity,  he  indicated  a  criterion  by  which  to  distinguish 
two  great  bodies  of  human  knowledge;  the  one  empirical, 
the  result  of  experience,  bearing  about  it  the  uncertainty 
that  flows  from  the  varied,  limited,  and  contingent ;  the 
other  the  exact,  mathematical,  clothed  with  all  the  certainty 
which  can  be  gathered  up  from  the  universal  and  the 
necessary. 

The  system  of  Kant  was  indeed  a  fruitful  soil.  In  it  we 
shall  find  the  germ  of  many  philosophies. 


Idealism :  Mchte, 

There  are  four  German  philosophies  having  their  roots 
in  the  system  of  Kant.  These  are  severally  represented  by 
Fichte,  Schelling,  Hegel,  Herbart  and  Jacobi. 


400 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


]^U1U)PE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


401 


Jolianii  Gottlieb  Fichte  was  born  in  upper  Luaatia  in 
1762,  and  died  in  1814. 

It  is,  sajs  Chal  jbaus,  in  tbe  writings  of  Fichte,  and  thes  e 
only,  that  we  can  obtain  the  key  to  the  understandin  g  of 
all  modern  philosophers.^ 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  reflecting  mind  of 
Europe,  especially  of  Germany,  would  long  rest  satisfied 
with  the  system  of  Kant.  '  It  contained  witliin  itself  princi- 
ples that  required  to  be  developed  to  be  pushed  into  results 
which  Kant  himself  did  not  anticipate.  Fichte  commenced 
witb  being  a  disciple  of  Kant,  and  supposed  himself  only 
unfolding  his  system,  until  the  latter  was  driven  to  a  formal 
protest  against  the  interpretation  wliich  the  former  was 
placing  upon  his  doctrine. 

The  two  factors,  sensor  and  understanding,  given  in  the 
philosophy  of  Kant,  were  to  be  developed.  Of  these  two, 
the  leaning  was  much  the  strongest  towards  the  under- 
standing,  in  whose  categories  were  recognized  the  forms 
fixed  and  permanent,  in  subjection  to  which  all  thought  must 
necessarily  occur.  This  gave  a  strong  preponderance  to 
the  subjective  element,  and  indicated  that  as  the  one  first 
to  be  pursued  into  its  ultimate  consequences.  Hence  the 
mission  of  Fichte. 

The  later  writings  of  Fichte  are  found  to  modify  some- 
what his  earlier  views.  His  system  of  philosophy  as  first 
promulgated,  has  been  styled  a  subjective  idealism.  It  is 
that  which  looks  to  consciousness  alone,  not  only  as  the 
means  of  revealing,  but  also  as  the  subject  matter  of  what 
is  revealed.  The  Scottish  school  had  introduced  the  exter- 
nal world  through  the  duality  of  consciousness.  The  school 
of  Kant  had  denied  this  duality,  and  by  assuming  the  unity 
of  consciousness  had  limited  the  reality  of  the  knowledge 
obtained  from  it  to  the  interior  operations  of  the  thinking 
being  itself,  while  the  external  creation,  the  objective, 
standing  apart  and  exterior  to  the  subjective,  although  it 


Schwegle,  183. 


may  have  a  reality  in  itself,  yet  that  reiility  could  never  be 
known  to  us,  and  that  all  our  knowledge  must  be  limited 
to  the  phenomena,  the  appearances  there  presented. 

Fichte  starting  from  the  Kantian  stand  point,  merely  de- 
duced its  logical  consequence.  The  interior  operations, 
those  of  the  niind  itself,  being  those  only  of  which  con- 
sciousness could  take  cognizance,  its  testimony  must  be 
limited  to  those  alone.  When  we  have  arrived  at  the  limits 
of  consciousness  we  have  attained  the  limits  of  all  know- 
ledge. Neither  have  we  any  right  to  posit  existence  or 
being  beyond  our  knowledge  of  it.  Thus  all  objective 
existence,  as  such,  is  rendered  impossible,  totally  excluded. 
The  phenomena,  appearances,  are  to  us  the  objects,  and  the 
only  objective  that  we  are  capable  of  recognizing.  But 
these  have  no  real  objectivity.  They  are  only  the  phases, 
phenomenal  outcrops,  so  to  term  them,  of  our  own  con- 
sciousness. 

Fichte  did  not  in  terms  deny  the  reality  of  the  external 
world.  He  only  denied  the  existence  of  it  as  a  thing  in 
itself,  and  as  separate  and  independent  of  the  thinking 
principle.  His  position  was,  that  as  consciousness  alone 
brought  us  a  knowledge  of  it,  and  afforded  us  no  other  in- 
timation of  its  origin  than  as  coming  from  ourselves,  and 
as  we  have  no  other  warrant  for  knowledge  than  that  which 
is  furnished  by  consciousness,  we  are  necessarily  shut  up 
to  the  conclusion  that  \vhat  appears  to  us  as  external  is 
nothing  more  than  a  reflex  of  ourselves  ;  that  we  from  the 
depths  of  our  own  nature,  actually  produce,  give  origin,  to 
all  those  varied  appearances  of  the  external  universe  with 
which  we  become  acquainted.  That  the  trees,  and  fields, 
and  streams,  and  thousand  other  objects,  that  are  passing 
before  us  in  their  almost  infinite  variety,  are  nothing  but 
creations  of  our  own  thinking  principle,  only  evolutions  from 

ourselves. 

When  reminded  that  our  consciousness,  on  whose  testi- 
mony he  relied,  referred  us  to  an  external  world  as  con- 
taining objects  possessing  the  qualities  it  authorized  us  to 

VI]  51 


s^\ 


402 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


attribute  to  them,  Lis  reply  was  that  this  very  reference 
was  subjective,  au  outgrowth  of  the  thinking  principle,  and 
that  we  were,  therefore,  still  within  tlie  circle  of  our  own 
consciousness. 

There  was,  however,  another  question  presented  very 
diificult  of  answer.  Assuming  the  ground  of  Fichte  that 
everything  apparently  external  is  in  reality  only  a  reflex 
image,  a  representation  of  an  internal  evolution,  how  is  it 
that  we  are  compelled  to  receive  it  in  the  order  in  which 
it  is  presented?  We  can  recall  to  our  minds  a  varied  land- 
scape, and  by  our  own  internal  mental  activity  we  can  re- 
arrange its  objects,  or  we  can  create  one  in  our  own  minds, 
giving  to  it  whatever  variety  we  choose.  That  is  owing  to 
the  entire  freedom  we  possess  and  exercise  over  the  move- 
ments of  our  own  minds.  But  if  the  objects  and  scenes 
which  enter  into  the  composition  of  that  landscape  are 
originally  a  part  of  our  own  thinking  principle,  nothing  but 
internal  creations  of  our  own  minds,  why  can  we  not  actually 
perceive  them  just  as  our  will  would  dictate  ?  All  external 
objects  have  to  our  perception  the  same  relative  location. 
However  variously  we  may  imagine  a  landscape,  we  cannot 
perceive  one  except  as  it  presents  itself  to  us.  Whence 
come  the  fetters  that  bind  our  will  in  the  one  case,  leaving 
it  to  its  entire  freedom  in  the  other?  Whence  the  fixed 
determinateuess  of  object  that  everywhere  greets  our 
original  perceptions  ? 

To  meet  this  objection  Fichte  was  compelled  to  descend 
to  a  sphere  below  that  of  conseioiisness.  He  was  com- 
pelled to  assume  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  uncon- 
scious representations;  or  that  there  were  determinations, 
modifications  of  the  inner  man,  states  of  the  soul,  that  had 
an  existence  prior  to  the  active  exercise  of  consciousness. 
Fichte  everywhere  takes  for  granted  that  consciousness  is 
only  a  becoming  acquainted  with  that  which  is  already 
existent,  and  that  w^hen  that  which  is  thus  existent,  appears 
in  consciousness,  it  appears  under  fixed  determinations 
caused  not  by  itself  but  by  something  else. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


403 


T 


4^ 


It  might  be  answered  that  consciousness  must  have^  a 
very  singular  modification,  to  allow  it  to  be  nonexistent  in 
regard  to  matters  which  are  themselves  the  creation,  and  a 
part  of  its  possessor.  And  it  may  be  asked  whence  is  de- 
rived the  law  that  renders  consciousness  nonexistent,  or  at 
least  noiiobservant  as  to  all  physical  arrangements;  that 
compels  all  souls  to  receive  as  fixed  and  unchangeable,  all 
those  matters  of  perception,  which  are  derived  wholly  from 
themselves,  and  upon  the  disposition  and  arrangement  of 
which  so  large  a  portion  of  their  happiness  depends? 

Fichte,  it  is  true,  points  the  final  cause  or  reason  why 
these  original  determinations  should  exist.  He  denomi- 
nates the  soul  a  free  activity,  and  gives  it  originally  an 
unlimited  freedom,  attributing  to  it  the  power  of  acting, 
moving,  and  developing  in  every  direction  alike.  If  there- 
fore it  had  no  limits  imposed  upon  it,  it  would  go  ofiT  in  au 
unlimited  expansion ;  or  taking  one  direction,  would  pro- 
gress eternally  in  it,  without  ever  returning. 

He  therefore  regards  it  as  evidencing  the  highest  wisdom 
that  the  me,  as  he  terms  it,  the  ego,  i,  should  be  restrained 
in  its  otherwise  entirely  free  operations  by  the  limitations 
which  it  encounters  in  the  not  7ne,  the  non  ego,  by  which  it 
everywhere  surrounds  itself  The  me,  according  to  Fichte, 
"  presupposes  something,^  and  that  external  to,  and  which 
is  not  itself  It  perceives  within  itself  a  defect,  a  negation 
of  its  individual  self-activity  in  regard  to  its  intuitions,  and 
as  everything  must  have  a  cause,  presupposes  other  exist- 
ences to  determine  these  intuitions.  It  aflirms  a  not  me, 
and  ascribes  to  it  that  activity  and  causality  which  it  is  con- 
scious itself  does  not  exercise.  Hence  the  assumption  or 
representation  of  objects  without  us  is  only  a  conception 
of  the  me,  an  assumption  made  by  the  me  itself.  It  is  true, 
it  is  an  assumption  to  which  we  are  forced  to  have  recourse, 
but  only  in  the  sense  of  being  forced  upon  us  by  the  pecu- 
liar subjective  laws  of  thinking  of  the  me,  viz :  by  the  law 


Chilyhnns.  188. 


404 


HISTORY  .OF  CIVILIZATION. 


i 


of  thought  relating  to  a  causa  sufficitris,  which  law  is,  of 
C(  orsc,  iigmu  to  be  traced  to  the  me  and  notiiing  else." 

Thus  the  doctrine  of  Ficlite  affirms  that  there  are  in  us 
representations  and  images  wliicli  we  get  in  some  way  of 
wliicVi  we  are  not  conscious;  and  after  that  we  conceive 
objects  external  to  ourselves,  in  order  to  accoutit  for  the 
origin  of  tliese  images.  Thus,  man  by  tliiidving,  creates 
objects  to  himself,  represents  them  to  himself,  conceives 
them  as  there,  and  in  no  other  sense  have  they  any  ex- 
istence for  him.  Tliese  objects  are  only  the  reflex  of  our 
own  internal  laws  of  intuition,  and  at  the  same  time  also 
their  product.  As  theyc-annot  be  deduced  from  tlie  in- 
fluences exerted  by  anything  external,  w^e  must  regard  them 
as  the  ultimate  limit  of  all  our  knowdedge. 

Fichte  did  not  start  with  tlie  idea  of  originating  a  new 
system  of  philosophy.  It  was  his  desire  to  furnish  a  doc- 
trine of  science,  and  this  he  proposed  to  build  upon  a  single 
principle,  and  thus  togive  it  a  perfect  unity.  This  principle 
was  subjectivity,  and  the  witness  he  brought  forward  on 
all  occasions  to  establish  his  positions  was  consciousness. 
This  was  a  witness  no  one  could  impeach,  and  yet  its 
testimouy  was  very  diflerently  construed  by  the  Scottish 
andFichtian  schools.  It  was  important,  tlierefore,  for  Fichte 
to  furnish  a  clear  idea  of  consciousness.^ 

According  to  Fichte,  consciousness  may  be  looked  upon 
as  the  central  point  in  which  all  representations  unite.  It 
is  the  faculty,  the  power  which  perceives.  It  is  not  any 
substratum,  but  the  activity,  the  perceiving  itself.  Hence 
that  wdiich  manifests  itself  immediately  to  us,  is  not  an 
existence,  nor  a  substance,  but  an  activity.  It  is  the  repre- 
senting, the  internal  imaging,  the  consciousness.  This  he 
compares  to  an  inward  eye,  sleepless  in  its  character, 
situated  in  the  centre  of  our  being,  and  which  takes  in 
one  after  another,  all  the  image  objects  which  are  passing 
before  it  during  the  whole  course  of  life. 


'  ChalyhmtR,  194. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PIIILOSOPPIY. 


405 


Fichte  lays  down  tln^ee  fundamental  laws  of  all  thinking: 

1.  The  original  act  of  all  knowing  is  that  the  me  affirms 
itself.  That  is,  the  me  represents  itself  to  itself;  presents 
to  itself  its  own  image  as  object,  and  thus  renders  itself  the 
object  of  its  own  intuition. 

2.  The  second  law  is  that  the  me  affirms  a  not  me. 
That  is,  the  same  consciousness  opposes  its  own  self  to  every- 
thing else,  and  distinguishes  between  itself  as  a  definite 
representation  and  everything  else  wdiicli  is  not  that  repre- 
sentation, and  comes  to  know  itself  all  the  more  perfectly 
by  the  contrast  thence  arising. 

*  3.  The  law  of  mutual  limitation  arisiug  out  of  these  two 
representations,  and  is  thus  expressed.  The  me  is,  what 
the  7}ot  me  is  not,  and  the  not  me  is,  what  the  me  is  not.  The 
two  are  directly  opposed  to  each  other  in  consciousness, 
and  yet  the  latter  is  preserved  in  its  full  integrity.  The 
formula  embodying  the  law  is  the  me  affirms  itself  as  deter- 
mined or  limited  by  the  not  me.  The  representation  of 
the  not  me,  or  objects  always  flows  from  the  proper  activity 
of  the  w^'  although  such  activity  cannot  be  regarded  as  a 
spontaneous  one.  It  is  a  necessary  activity,  but  that 
necessity  arises  out  of  its  own  nature. 

Idealism,  according  to  Fichte,  views  intelligence  as  act- 
ing,^ and  not  something  active.  It  deduces  definite  repre- 
sentations, as  external  objects,  from  the  acting  of  that  intel- 
ligence. As  intelligence  is  itself  the  highest  ground  of 
explanation,  its  acting  must  be  determinate,  and  deter- 
mined by  the  intellect  and  its  essence.  As  intelligence,  in 
virtue  of  its  peculiar  being,  can  only  act  in  a  certain  way, 
it  must  have  its  necessary  laws  of  acting.  It  is  those  laws 
that  give  it  the  feeling  of  environment,  although  those  defi- 
nite representations,  apparently  coming  from  without,  are 
only  the  limits  of  its  own  being.  There  is  nothing  ob- 
jective, but  the  soul's  activity  discloses  the  process  of  be- 
coming, and  brings  to  the  light  of  consciousness  the  way 


i 


HJialyhno^,  197. 


V 


406 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


in  which  we  ourselves  have  produced  a  representation. 
Even  if  tliere  were  aiij  existence  other  than  our  own,  it 
could  be  to  us  only  a  conceived  existence,  and  not  one 
self-produced.  In  the  higher  consciousness  all  objective 
existence  wholly  disappears  as  being  actual.  Nothing 
remains  as  really  actual  except  the  activity  within  us. 
There  is  only  a  thinking,  representing,  forming,  an  activity 
fixed  to  certain  laws  that  are  inherent  to  itself.  These 
laws  are  nothing  more  than  the  unchanging  method  of 
that  spontaneous  and  free  activity,^  and  that  activity  is 
itself  the  absolute,  and  that  which  alone  is  actual. 

Fichte's  system  had  also  a  practical,  as  well  as  theoretical, 
aspect.  The  limits  which  the  rm  as  theoretic  has  set  over 
against  itself  in  the  not  me,^  it  must,  as  practical,  seek  to 
destroy,  and  absorb  again  the  not  me  into  itself,  or  to  con- 
ceive it  as  only  the  self-limitation  of  the  7ne.  The  practical, 
reason,  in  effect,  says,  "there  ought  to  be  no  non  ego 
since  the  non  ego  can  in  no  way  be  united  with  the  ego.  " 
By  the  ego,  or  the  mc,  Fichte  means  to  be  understood  not 
any  individual,  but  the  universal  ego,  the  universal  ration- 
ality.'^ The  ego,  so  far  as  it  belongs  to  the  practical,  has 
the  tendency  to  pass  beyond  the  actual  world,  and  establish 
an  ideal  one.  But  this  striving  is  always  confined  to  the 
finite  partly  through  itself,  because  it  goes  out  towards  ob- 
jects, and  objects  are  finite,  and  partly  through  the  resistance 
of  the  sensible  world.  We  ought  to  seek  to  reach  the  infi- 
nite, but  we  cannot  do  it ;  this  striving  and  inability  is  the 
impress  of  our  destiny  for  eternity.  Thus  Fichte  sums  up 
"  an  original  of  our  absolute  being;  an  eflbrt  to  reflect  upon 
ourselves,*  in  order  to  gain  this  idea ;  a  limitation,  not  of 
this  striving,  but  of  our  own  existence,  which  first  becomes 
actual  through  this  limitation,  or  tlirough  an  opposite  princi- 
ple, a  7ion  ego,  or  our  finiteness;  a  self-consciousness,  and 
especially  a  consciousness  of  our  practical  strivings;  a  de- 
termination accordingly  of  our  representations,  and  through 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


407 


J 


\ 


\ 


*  Chalyhaus,  199.    "'  Schm^gh\  294.    '  Idem,  2sr,.     '  Wem,  295. 


these  of  our  actions  ;  a  constant  widening  of  our  limits  into 
the  infinite." 

There  is  then  a  possibility  of  carrying  out  all  that  our 
moral  nature  demands,  and  then  the  whole  phenomenal 
world  of  sensible  objects  attains,^  from  this  practical  stand 
point,  its  aim,  significancy,  and  solemn  importance  of 
necessity. 

Fichte  thus  derives  his  theory  of  rights.  We  are  con- 
cious  of  a  free  activity ;  of  its  limitation  in  what  is  appa- 
rently an  external  world,  and  as  apart  of  it  of  other  rational 
beings,  possessing  also  a  free  activity.  But  these  free  activi- 
ties cannot  exist  without  a  relation  of  rights.  In  virtue  of 
such  relation  each  one  has  his  freedom  limited  by  conceiv- 
ing the  possibility  of  the  other's  freedom ;  but  only  under 
the  condition  that  this  other  also  limits  his  own  freedom 
through  that  of  the  first.  Hence  the  maxim,  or  rule  of 
limitation  "  limit  thy  freedom  through  the  conception  of 
the  freedom  of  every  other  person  with  whom  thou  canst 
be  connected."  Thus  the  original  right  he  considers  to  be 
the  absolute  right  of  the  person  to  be  only  a  cause  in  the 
sensible  world,  though  he  may  be,  in  other  relations,  an 
effect. 

Thus  the  absolute,  universal  ego  of  science  is  split  up 
by  Fichte  in  his  theory  of  rights,  into  a  great  multiplicity 
of  egos,  each  possessing  rights.  But  the  problem  of  ethics 
is  to  bring  it  out  again  in  its  unity.  He  regards  right  and 
morals  as  essentially  difierent,  the  one  being  the  external 
necessity  to  do  or  omit  something  in  order  not  to  infringe 
upon  the  freedom  of  another,  while  the  other  is  the  inner 
necessity  to  do  or  omit  something  wholly  independent  of 
external  ends,  constitutes  the  moral  nature  of  man.  As 
right  arises  out  of  conflict  of  the  impulse  of  freedom  in  differ- 
ent subjects,  so  ethics  arise  from  conflict  between  impulses 
of  the  same  person.  "  There  must, "  says  Fichte,  "  be  a 
course  in  whose  progress  the  ego  can  conceive  itself  as  ap- 


'  Chalyhaus,  204. 


408 


HISTORY  OF  ClVILIZxVTlON. 


proxinuiting  towards  absolute  iiidepeiidcnce.^  Tliis  course 
is  determined  in  infinity  in  tlie  iileii ;  tliere  is,  therefore,  no 
possible  case  in  which  it  is  not  determined  what  the  pure 
impulse  should  demand.  We  might  name  this  course  the 
moral  determination  of  the  finite  rational  being.  The 
principle  of  ethics  is,  therefore,  always  fulfill  thy  destiny." 

Althougli,  upon  tlie  principles  of  Fichte  it  was  easy  to 
account  for  the  external  world,  as  being  nothing  but  a 
reflex  of  the  ego,  yet  in  recognizing  the  being  of  a  God 
there  were  many  difficulties  to  be  encountered. 

As  the  idealist  regards  the  word-image  as  his  own  pro- 
duct, he  is  obliged  to  regard  himself  as  the  creator,  and 
can,  therefore,  never  get  beyond  himself  in  his  search  after 
God.  The  only  real,  ultimate  ground  from  wliich  anything 
can  proceed  is  the  ego  or  me,  and  tliat  which,  in  appear- 
ance, hovers  before  it,  is  only  a  modification  of  its  own 
activity.  The  elevation,  therefore,  of  the  creator  of  nature 
into  God  is,  and  can  be,  only  self-deification. 

But  although  Fichte  in  strong  terms  affirms  that  the  me, 
Or  absolute  activity,  is  only  manifested  as  the  ground  and 
origin  of  all  its  modifications,  and  that  all  we  can  declare 
about  it  is  that  it  is  spontaniety,  its  essence  consisting  in 
self-subsistence,  independence  and  freedom,  every  limita- 
tion known  to  consciousness  existing  within  yet  he  main- 
tains that  spontaneous  operation  is  on  that  account  in  it- 
self not  arbitrary,  as  it  places  before  it  an  end,  not  from 
without  but  within.  It  is  the  self-formed  aim  of  the  me, 
beyond  which  it  is  impossible  to  go.  It  is  the  reason  in  con- 
creto,  the  true  essence  of  the  human  spirit.  This  self-formed 
aim  he  regards  as  the  innermost  and  deepest  truth  of  our 
nature,  that  which  essentially  constitutes  us,  and  is  the 
object  of  our  desire  and  volition.  It  is  not  an  aim  forced 
upon  us,  but  one  self-proposed.  It  is  the  pressing  and 
longing  of  one's  nature  after  its  development,  and  all  that 
the  doctrine  of  science  does  is  to  exhibit  the  method  of 


» Schweglc,  298. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


409 


that  self-development  of  the  consciousness,  showing  how  it 
gradually  comes  to  remember  its  contents. 

We  are  here  only  conscious  of  the  purpose  for  which  a 
world  must  necessarily  present  itself  to  our  view ;  such 
appearance  being  the  only  means,  or  the  only  condition  of 
attaining  our  self-formed  aim,  as  without  it  definite  action 
would  be  impossible.  Hence  everything  contained  in  that 
appearance,  from  the  self-formed  aim  in  the  beginning  to 
the  crude  material  of  the  world  at  the  eud,^  are  so  many  medi- 
ating links  in  the  chain  of  progress.  All  these  are  but 
appearance,  phenomena,  the  only  thing  really  true  and 
actual  being  our  self-subsistence  and  freedom,  the  inherent 
barriers  and  limitations  of  which  are  only  the  form  of  human 
consciousness,  that  of  the  intellectual  side  of  our  activity. 

There  is  an  aim  in  the  world's  forcing  itself  upon  us  as 
something  real.     As  our  own  nature  manifests  itself  in 
the  behest  of  duty  as  conscience,  so  the  reality  of  the  world 
also  makes  itself  known,  as  such,  inasmuch  as  the  highest 
aims  of  existence  can  only  be  carried  out  in  it,  and  by 
means  of  it. 

Hence  the  world's  reality  rests  not  on  knowledge,  but  on 
faith,  and  this  originates  from  the  necessity  to  carry  out 
the  behest  of  duty,  and  which  requires  just  such  a  world 
to  carry  it  out.  And  thus,  while,  on  the  one  hand,  it  is 
admitted  that  the  whole  world  is  nothing  but  the  image 
and  reflex  of  our  hidden  nature  and  its  manifestation,  so 
on  the  other,  it  is  evident,  that  as  a  whole,  it  is  a  moral 
arrangement  throughout,  and  one  subservient  to  moral 
purposes.  This  living  and  operating  moral  order  is  God, 
the  only  God  that  according  to  Fichte,  we  require,  or  can 
apprehend.  Thus  God,  in  Fichte's  view,  is  not  substance. 
He  is  not  even  existence,  but  is  pure  action.  He  is  the  \ 
life  and  principle  of  a  super-sensible  world.  Order  in  the 
some  way  as  I,  a  finite  intelligence,  am  not  an  existence, 


\ 


*  Chalyhaus,  205. 
VI] 


52 


410 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


411 


but  pure  acting,  an  acting  in  accordance  witli  duty,  as  be- 
ing a  member  of  that  super-sensible  world,  order.  Thus 
Fichte  very  clearly  laid  himself  open  either  to  the  charge  of 
atheism,  or  to  that  deifying  the  ego. 

The  system  of  Fichte  maintained  that  the  ego  alone  was 
both  the  first  and  the  only  immediately  real,^  that  it  com- 
prised the  whole  totality  of  conditions  ;  that  it  was  the  sum 
and  contents  of  everything,  the  entirely  independent  and 
free,  the  absolute  creator  for  itself  and  of  everything  that 
was  going  on  in  it. 

But  here  we  meet  with  a  difficulty  upon  his  own  princi- 
ples. Granting  all  he  claims  for  the  ego,  still  it  only 
affirms  itself  in  the  opposition  to  the  non  ego.  It  only 
arrives  at  the  consciousness  of  itself  in  the  fact  of  its  oppo- 
sition to  everything  else.  Hence  as  the  opposition  is  mu- 
tual, both  parts  of  it,  the  ego  and  non  ego  equally  require  to 
be  affirmed.  The  destruction  of  either  one  would  extin- 
guish the  other.  The  condition  of  the  one  being  retained 
in  the  consciousness  is  the  presence  of  its  opposite.  Fichte's 
principle,  therefore,  involved  the  germ  of  realism  just  as 
fully  as  of  idealism,  and  hence  in  the  place  of  the  monism 
he  was  seeking,  we  find  a  dualism  fully  established. 

This  objection  may  have  led  to  a  modification  of  his 
doctrine,  some  time  previous  to  his  death,  which  however,^ 
retains  his  former  teaching,  only  breaking  through  and  go- 
ing beyond  it.  His  doctrine  had  hitherto  been  a  subjective 
idealism,  but  his  later  efibrts  endeavored  to  throw  a  realis- 
tic element  into  this  idealism.  He  seeks  for  the  real,  not 
like  the  sensualists  without  the  me  and  in  things,  but  only 
in  the  me  and  in  the  deepest  ground  thereof.  ''  Here  in  the 
self-consciousness  of  the  individual  finite  7ne,  one  general 
universal  self-consciousness  gradually  opens  up  before  him 
a  me  in  and  by  itself  or  an  absolute  me,  in  the  broad  ground 
of  which  all  the  individual  me  have  struck  root,  and  to  the 
unity  of  which  they  all  go  back,'^  while  purely  apprehend- 


Chalphaus,  210.    Udem,2W.    "Idem,  216. 


t 


ing  their  own  essence.  Thus  an  all  unity  of  the  absolute, 
under  and  in  all  the  particular,  opens  up  before  him. 
This  reality  which  he  assumed,  he  found  only  in  the  ine, 
and  it  consisted  in  that  creative  moral  will,  which  projects 
the  world  and  all  its  phenomena  by  means  of  those  me 
which  are  infinitely  variously  endowed.  We  are  by  no 
means  that  absolute  existence,  that  universal  me,  but  we 
stand  connected  to  it  in  the  innermost  root  of  our  exist- 
ence, as  without  it  we  should  not  at  all  be  capable  of  ex- 
isting. This  absolute  7ne,  which  he  designates  as  pure 
knowledge,  absolute  consciousness,  must  be  apprehended 
just  like  the  me  of  man,  or  as  pure  activity.  It  is  the  all 
prevailing,  by  itself  existent,  reason,  which,  although  it 
does  not  consist  in  the  knowledge  of  any  one  object,  is  the 
super-sensual  ground  of  all  actual  knowledge,  the  active 
all  penetrating  moral  world  order,  the  law  indeed,  but  the 
living,  the  absolute  law,  and  which  is  termed  the  absolute 
and  actual  will,  on  account  of  that  never  quiescing  activity, 
in  which  it  consisteth.  *  *  *  The  absolute  ta- 
ken in  and  by  itself,  is  that  unbounded  and  undetermined, 
that  infinite  One,  which  is  the  same  in  all  the  me  ;  but  at 
the  same  time  it  is  the  ground,  and  the  original  ground 
of  all  and  in  all.  The  individual  mes  apprehend  themselves 
in  it  only  as  the  manifold  revelations  of  that  which  is 
grounded  in  him.  Their  existence  is  the  function  of  letting 
that  general  enter  into  the  state  of  oppositeness  of  the  un- 
derstanding, that  is  into  reflection,  which  is  peculiar  to  the 
me,  and  hence  of  letting  it  enter  into  actual  consciousness. 
Hence  it  is  in  them  first  that  being  is  distinguished  from 
thinking.  *  *  *  Thus  the  me,  as  particularized, 
constitute,  when  taken  together,  the  totality  of  the  modes 
of  revelation  of  the  absolute,  and  from  out  of  its  own  im- 
manent genius  every  ine  manifests  that  which,  in  its  own 
place,  in  the  total  connection  is  that  which  is  necessary  and 
which  should  not  exist  differently,  that  which  is  com- 
manded and  is  in  accordance  with  duty.  That  absolute 
then  is  God,  and  internally  in  himself,  God  is  one  and  not 


412 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


413 


many  ;  in  hinisell  he  is  one,  and  the  same  without  change 
or   alteration.         *         *         *         *      The   divine  being 
does  not  enter  wholly  and  undividedly  into  those  points  of 
liberty  (the  wh),  which   mutually  exclude   each  other,   it 
only  enters  one-sidedly  into  them  ;  but  beyond  those  points, 
and   without  being  veiled  by  any  cover  which  is   only 
grounded  in  those  points,  it  enters ;  it  enters  just  as  it  is  in 
itself,  continuing  to  form  into  infinity,  and  in  that  form  of 
onflowing  life  which  is  inseparable  from  its  life,  which  in 
itself  is  simple.     This  eternal  on-flowing  of  the  divine  life  is 
the  proper,  innermost,  and  deepest  root  of  existence.     It 
is  the  continuous,  eternal,  and  unchangeable  will  of  abso- 
lute reality,  to  continue  to  develop  itself  in  the  manner 
in  which  it  necessarily  requires  to  develop  itself" 

Fitche  does  not  attribute  consciousness  to  the  absolute 
in  and  by  itself.  In  his  view  the  absolute  is  "  that  funda- 
mental momentum  found  in  the  me  themselves,^  that  part 
of  the  me  which,  while  presented  as  the  source  and  spring 
of  activity,  is,  by  itself  and  without  the  other  momentum 
of  the  not  me,  without  determination  and  indifierent." 
Thus  the  latter  system  of  Fichte  is  a  sort  of  idealistic 
Spinozism.  His  absolute  resembles  the  immense  struc- 
tures reared  by  tbe  coral  insect,  which  lie  in  the  back 
ground,  and  serve  as  the  basis  and  foundation  of  all  acti- 
vity. The  entire  structure  is  without  determination,  and 
graduated  at  the  point  of  indifference,  from  its  deep  ocean 
depths  to  the  surface,  and  there  a  scene  of  life  and  activity 
presents  itself.  All  along  the  upper  surface  the  millions 
of  little  insects,  representing  an  infinity  of  mes  are  perform- 
ing their  life  labor,  each  one  in  building  up  for  itself  its  own 
little  stony  habitation,  serving  both  for  its  cell  and  its  sepul- 
chre, the  home  of  its  joys  and  its  sorrows,  and  the  tomb  of 
its  remains.  Each  possesses  a  will  and  a  determinateness 
of  its  own,  in  accordance  with  its  constitution  and  relations ; 
and  like  the  me  of  humanity,  is  surrounded  by  an  environ- 


Chalyhum,  219. 


>  ' 


l(i 


ment  of  its  own  creation.  The  root  of  its  own  existence, 
as  also  that  of  its  environment,  is  found  in  the  immense 
structure  of  which  it  forms  a  part.  And  when  its  own  cell 
is  completed,  which  constitutes  its  sepulchre  its  life  labor 
is  ended ;  its  existence  as  a  separate  living  entity  ceases  ; 
and  it  drops  back  into  the  absolute,  contributing  to  form 
a  part  of  that  out  of  which  it  derived  its  origin  and  from 
which  it  took  its  departure. 

In  one  respect,  perhaps,  may  Fichte  render  the  aspira- 
tions of  his  me  superior  to  those  of  the  coral.  He  saw 
clearly  enough  that  although  he  might  term  his  absolute 
an  abstract  fundamental  momentum,  in  and  by  itself,  yet 
that  the  me  like  the  coral,  always  finds  itself  shut  up  within 
"  incomprehensible  limitations."  Yet  Fichte  makes  it 
propose  to  itself  the  task  of  breaking  through  these  barriers 
for  the  purpose  of  setting  itself  free.  He  points  psycholo- 
gically and  historically,  to  a  progress  in  that  unceasing 
work  of  destruction,  which  follows  a  certain  definite  plan, 
and  constitutes  a  philosophy  of  the  history  of  mankind. 

He  distinguishes  in  this  three  stages,  or  periods.  First,  the 
me  occupies  the  sensor's  standing  point  of  felicity.^  "  For," 
says  he,  '*  as  every  me  is  a  one-sided  and  partial  existence  of 
the  divine  all-being,  and  represents  some  one  particular 
function  of  the  divine  will,  it  also  apprehends  itself  first  of 
all  in  that  particularity,  and  looks  upon  itself  as  being  a 
whole,  by  opposing  itself  to  the  other  volitions,  which  are 
in  the  same  way  particular,  and  by  thus  asserting  and 
claiming  exclusive  being.  Hence  its  will  is  not  one  with 
the  universally  divine  will,  but  stands  in  antagonism  to  it." 

This  brings  us  to  the  second  stage,  or  period,  that  of 
choice,  in  which  the  yne  makes  a  choice  between  the  two 
volitions,  and  has  to  carry  out  a  resolution  as  to  whether 
it  is  to  be  determined  in  accordance  with  its  own  individual 
volition,  or  with  the  eternal  one.  This  position  he  terms 
the  standing  point  of  the  law. 


^  Chalpbaus,  220. 


i 


414 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


/ 


The  third  stage,  or  period,  consists  in  the  destruction  or 
removal  of  this  oppositeness,  in  order  that  at  last  the  stage 
of  pure  and  free  morality,  and  with  it  that  of  blessedness, 
may  be  attained.  Here  the  individual  me  disappears.  It 
sinks  into  the  absolute.  It  has  no  will  apart  from  the 
divine  will.  "  In  the  end,  and  where  is  the  end  ?  (says 
Fichte),  everything  must  after  all  cast  anchor  in  the  secure 
harbor  of  eternal  rest  and  blessedness ;  in  the  end  the  king- 
dom of  God  must  come  forth  in  its  might,  in  its  power  and 

in  its  glory." 

These  different  stages,  or  periods,  appear  better  adapted 
to  the  experience,  or  life  history,  of  each  individual  me, 
than  to  that  of  the  race  taken  as  a  unit ;  and  evon  if  it 
applies  to  the  latter,  to  continue  our  former  figure,  what 
is  the  sinking  of  every  individual  ?ne  into  the  absolute  but 
the  arrival  of  the  coral  structure  to  the  ocean's  surface, 
when  all  coral  life  becomes  extinct,  and  nothing  but  the 
dead  structure,  the  absolute,  alone  remains  ? 

Pantheism  —  ScheUing,  Hegel. 

Frederick  William  Von  ScheUing  was  born  at  Leonberg, 
in  Wirtemberg,  in  1775,  and  died  at  Ragaz,  in  Switzer- 
land, in  1854.  Historically,  he  sprang  from  Fichte,  as  he 
takes  him  for  his  starting  point. 

Fichte's  first  stand  point  makes  all  our  knowledge  to  be 
summed  up  in  a  subjective  activity;  that  no  person  is 
capable  of  knowing  or  of  experiencing  more  than  what  lies 
or  what  goes  on  within  the  sphere  of  his  me,^  that  is,  of  his 
self-consciousness,  and  everything  that  is  going  on  there, 
is  a  self-activity  of  the  consciousness.  This  was  a  subjec- 
tive idealism,  and  ScheUing  was  not  long  in  perceiving  the 
one-sided  subjectivity  of  that  system,  and  the  knowledge 
it  proposed  to  furnish.  He  accordingly,  in  his  early  specu- 
lations, maintained  that  if  there  was  to  be  knowledge  there 


Chalyhaus,  238. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


415 


must  be  something  that  is  to  be  known,  there  must  be 
existence,  referring,  however,  only  to  the  antagonism 
between  the  finite  me  and  the  external  world.  He  called 
attention  to  the  antagonism  between  the  absolute  produc- 
ing me,  the  subject,  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  product,  the 
representation,  the  object,  on  the  other  hand;  claiming 
that  the  ideal  and  the  real  are,  as  far  as  their  root  is  con- 
cerned, identical.  He  burst  through  all  the  obstacles  and 
fetters  of  subjectivity,  extending  the  limited  me  of  Fichte, 
into  the  universal  world,  sphere,  thus  taking  his  stand  at 
once  both  in  the  absolute  and  the  real.  The  absolute 
ground  being  absolute  activity,  time  and  space  are  the 
form  of  its  movement.  Space  is  only  activity  enlarging 
and  extending  itself,  and  time  is  given  as  the  limitation  of 
that  activity.  Time  and  space  are  the  necessary  condi- 
tions of  all  intuition,^  that  first  or  original  mental  activity 
found  in  the  consciousness.  Thus  movement  is  a  com- 
pound of  time  and  space,  and  is  that  which  externally  cor- 
responds to  the  succession  of  representations.  Expansion 
and  contraction  constitute  the  form  of  what  is  termed 
material  nature,  which  is  externally  beheld  by  us,  or  of  the 
life  of  nature  in  general. 

The  great  universe,  under  the  magic  wand  of  ScheUing, 
becomes  the  one  grand  unity,  the  world-me,  which  has  its 
movements  in  time  and  space,  which  movements  result  in 
the  production  of  all  objects,  all  that  exists.  The  individual, 
finite  mc,  in  virtue  of  its  internal  activities,  brings  forth 
an  infinitude  of  intuitions,  but  being  itself  only  a  part 
of  the  grand  totality,  it  is  the  universal  world-nature, 
which  is  working  in  each  individuality  as  one  of  the  many 
points  in  or  through  which  it  acts  and  works.  It  is  this 
world-nature,  which,  on  the  system  of  ScheUing,  has  organ- 
ized itself  into  human  souls,  and  through  them,  knows,  or 
becomes  cognizant  of  itself.  These  individual  souls,  he 
regards  as  the  numberless  individual  eyes  by  which  the 


'  Chalyhaus,  244. 


416 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


infinite  world-spirit  contemplates  itself.^  We  all  consti- 
tute, taken  together,  the  world-spirit;  and.theterm  being, 
in  its  full  acceptation,  can  only  apply  to  the  universal  life- 
force  and  power  of  nature,  in  the  pulsations  and  successive 
formations  of  which  our  particular  terrestrial  organizations 
also  is  one  passing  momentum. 

But  this  great  world-spirit,  in  its  activity  cannot,  accord- 
ing to  Schelling,  contemplate  itself,  cannot  become  aware 
of  that  which  it  is  and  does.  Objects  of  nature  are  never 
objects  to  themselves,  but  to  others.  Man  alone  is  both 
subject  and  object  to  himself.  He  alone  acts,  and  becomes 
conscious  of  his  activity.     He  alone  is  subject-object. 

In  perfect  self-consciousness,  the  self,^  or  existence  to 
be  known,  coincides  with  the  knowing;  and  when  we 
come  to  know  that  a  being  is  internally,  in  its  hidden 
contents,  only  the  play  of  the  same  activities  which  also 
constitutes  knowing,  then  only  does  the  knowing  and 
known,  the  ideal  and  the  real,  perfectly  correspond  to  each 
other.  Then  only  does  knowledge  interpenetrate  nature, 
and  everywhere  in  nature  finds  again  itself. 

The  question  as  to  how  impressions  of  corporal  objects 
gain  an  entrance  into  our  incorporal  souls  is  a  puzzler  to 
the  German  philosophers.^  They  seem  rather  to  regard  it 
as  a  general  psychological  fact,  as  an  internal  experience, 
and  an  immediate  necessity.  This  is  declining  to  explain 
it,  and  leaving  it  upon  ground  very  analogous  to  that  of  the 

Scottish  school. 

The  intuitions  are  just  images  existent  in  the  soul,  which, 
although  occasioned  by  something  external  and  at  first 
unconsciously  as  far  as  concerns  the  soul,  are  still  self- 
actively  produced  by  it.  The  only  respect  in  which  the 
notions  originate  empirically  is  that  they  are  repetitions  or 
portraitures  of  intuitions  which  actually  exist  in  the  con- 
sciousness, and  about  whose  external  or  internal  origin 
nothing  has  as  yet  been  determined.     It  is  by  means  of 


'Chulybau8,UQ.    Udem,  24:7.    ^  Idem,  250. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


417 


intellectual  intuition  that  the  mind  penetrates  into  the 
innermost  depths  of  nature,  and  through  it ;  for  nature  is 
the  all-one,  and  the  individual  man  only  an  integral  part 
of  it,  and  hence  all  the  other  parts  of  nature  are  to  him 
thoroughly  one  and  the  same  with  what  he  is  himself^ 
The  essence  of  nature  is  mind,  though  still  slumbering  and 
dreaming  on  many  lower  stages  of  self-development.  But 
all  nature's  activities  are  in  themselves  nothing  else  but  the 
activities  which  are  observed  objectively  by  us  as  move- 
ments, and  which  subjectively  we  bring  to  self-conscious- 
ness within  ourselves  as  activity  of  the  mind.  Existence, 
reality,  or  life,  is  that  universal  nature  which  continually 
eftects  itself,  the  natura  naturans  which,  in  unfolding  gives 
form  to  itself,  and  which  in  all  its  forms  only  manifests  its 
own  essence  which  is  thus  brought  forward,  and  its  own 
life.  In  its  innermost  and  deepest  point  it  is  the  absolute 
meity  ;  the  living  ground  of  subjectiveness,  which  brings, 
by  an  absolute  self-development,  everything  out  of  itself, 
transforms  the  possible  into  the  actual,  the  subjective  into 
the  objective.^  That  eternal  evolution  constitutes  nature, 
and  it  has  ever  had  a  gradual  progress  from  that  which  is 
lower  to  that  which  is  higher.  Nature  has  therefore  a 
progress  and  a  history.  The  ultimate  end  of  all  evolution 
is  attained  where  the  life  which  at  first  had  been  blindly 
operating  acquires  self-consciousness.  All  along  its  pro- 
gress and  everywhere,  the  mode  of  activity  is  the  same, 
viz:  a  self-objectivizing,  a  pendulum-like  swing  between 
subjectivity  and  objectivity;  a  pulsating  of  expansion  and 
contraction,  a  going  out  of  and  returning  to  one's  self.  It 
operates  unconsciously  in  the  lower  stages,  and  reaches 
self-consciousness  only  in  the  higher.  But  as  that  funda- 
mental essence  which  in  man  is  self-consciousness,  re- 
cognizes again  its  own  life  and  essence  in  the  rest  of 
nature,  and  beholds  there  objectively  that  which  it  had 
subjectively  perceived  within  itself,  it  results  that  all  know- 


'  Chalyhaus,  259.    "  Idem,  260. 
VI]  53 


d' 


418 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


ledge  has  two  poles,  presents  two  distinct  aspects,  subject 
and  object,  knowing  and  known.  This  gives  origin  to  two 
fundamental  sciences,  or  rather  two  aspects  of  one  and  the 
same  life  from  two  different  points  of  view: 

1.  The  philosophy  of  the  mind,  the  self-consciousness  of 
the  subject — transcendental  idealism ;  the  idealism  of  know- 
ing considered  by  itself. 

2.  The  philosophy  of  nature,  existence  or  life,  objectively 
considered  from  its  real  aspect  and  its  own  self-develop- 
ment. These  two  supplement  each  other,  presuppose  one 
another,  and  in  starting  from  the  one  we  are  driven  to  the 
other. 

Schelling's  theory  of  nature  was  that  perfection  was  only 
attained  when  all  nature  could  resolve  itself  into  an  intelli- 
gence ;  that  its  lifeless  and  unconscious  products  are  only 
its  unsuccessful  attempts  to  reflect  itself,  and  hence  is  only 
non-matured  intelligence;  that  its  becoming  wholly  object 
to  itself  is  only  attainable  in  its  last  and  highest  reflection,* 
which  is  nothing  else  than  what  we  term  reason,  by  which 
nature  returns  perfectly  into  itself,  thus  proving  that  ori- 
ginally it  is  identical  with  that  which  we  recognize  in  our- 
selves as  furnished  with  intelligence  and  consciousness. 

The  views  entertained  by  Schelling  varied  at  diflerent 
periods  of  his  hfe.  His  philosophy  of  nature,  as  origin- 
ally developed  by  him,  presents  a  splendid  scheme  of  pan- 
theism; "a  scheme  bearing  throughout  a  semblance  of 
science.  This  philosophy  consisted  essentially  in  self-de- 
velopment; in  assuming  that  this  is  based  at  the  founda- 
tion upon  self-movement.  This  in  its  lowest  stage  is  a 
mere  obscure  tendency  of  nature,  and  in  its  highest  is 
reason,  that  which  perceives  and  knows  itself  So  far  as 
regards  essence,  everything  is  considered  one  and  the 
same.2  Beyond  tendency,  movement  and  activity,  there  is 
nothing;  the  real  and  material  only  consisting  in  the  play 
of  those  activities  which  mutually  determine  each  other. 


'  Chalybaus,  262.    "  Idem,  265. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


419 


The  essence,  all  the  powers  and  forces  of  nature  exist: 
1.  In  potentiality,  in  ability  to  become  a  universe  simply 
as  natura  naturans.  2.  In  actuality,  in  having  become  a 
world  or  universe,  as  natura  naturata.  Both  these  together 
are  unitous,  constituting  a  whole,  are  the  absolute.  It  is 
the  same  original  essence  which  entering  into  all  the  shapes 
and  forms  of  nature  constitutes  their  interior,  and  thus  the 
absolute  and  infinite  being  is  neither  above  nor  without 
nature,  but  within  it,  and  all  objects,  we  ourselves,  every- 
thing around  us  is  only  that  omnipresent  eternal  existence 
and  being  in  its  development.  The  life-power  starts  from 
a  single  point,  a  point  of  indifterence,  and  works  itself  out 
into  product,  which  is  the  self-exhibition  of  its  own  essence 
becoming  object  to  itself  *  That  power  once  set  free,  must, 
by  its  own  working,  go  out  into  the  periphery. 

In  the  individual,  as  in  the  general,  there  is  a  law  at 
work  elaborating  and  pushing  out  the  germ  that  which  lay 
within  it,  and  that  unconsciously  and  blindly.  This  law 
appears  objectively  as  a  blind,  internal  necessity.  But  it  is 
in  no  sense  a  law  imposed  by  a  higher  power.  "It  is  the 
desire  of  the  germ  after  development.^  It  is  the  moving 
force  of  its  own  nature.  Its  working  is  the  successive  self- 
deliverance  and  self-satisfaction,  and  hence  the  manifestation 
of  freedom.'' 

There  is  a  uniformity  in  the  working  of  nature.'  It 
works  in  the  grand  whole  just  as  in  every  individual  germ. 
In  both,  the  original  tendency  organizes  itself  into  actuality, 
that  which  first  existed  as  mere  potentiality  works  itself 
out  both  in  the  totality  and  the  diversified  parts.  It  is  the 
potence  and  the  working  unitedly,  inseparably,  that  con- 
stitutes the  first  identity. 

This  potence,  in  as  far  as  it  has  attained  in  nature  to 
actuality,  is  termed  subjectivity ;  and  so  also  existence,  in  as 
far  as  it  is  the  ground  of  itself  is  subjectivity,  but  in  as  far 
as  it  is  borne  up  by  an  internal  ground,  it  is  objectivity.     In 


'  Chnlyhav.%  266.    '  Idem,  268.    ' Iiiem,  269. 


420 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


actuality  these  are  one  and  the  same ;  and  existence  is  the 
identity  of  subjectivity  and  objectivity. 

Thus  we  have  at  the  foundation  being  in  itself,  absolute 
existence,  infinite  and  without  difterence.  But  it  becomes 
membered  and  determined  into  the. greatest  possible  variety. 
These  diversified  parts,  whether  considered  by  themselves 
or  compared  with  each  other,  will  apparently,  some  more 
than  others,  belong  to  the  subjective  or  objective  side  of 
the  infinite  being.  Every  difierence  in  existence  can  only 
depend  on  a  relative  preponderance  either  of  subjectivity 
or  of  objectivity. 

Existence  is  self-activity,  but  as  our  own  self  activity 
consists  in  thinking,  so  we  conceive  the  self-activity  of 
nature  to  consist  also  in  thinking.  And  as  our  thought- 
images  are  mere  nonentical  objects,  so  those  of  the  uni- 
versal spirit  of  nature  also  are  formations  which,  as  such, 
possess  no  essentiality  in  themselves.  But  as  they  are 
only  the  spirit-assuming  form,  they  are,  nevertheless, 
actual  and  real,  even  as  our  own  thought-images  are  the 
spirit  which  has  assumed  those  shapes,  and  which  have 
thus  a  claim  to  existence.  Our  thought-images  appear 
non-real  to  us,  because  we  perceive  the  subjectiveness 
of  our  conceptional  objects.  But  in  the  same  manner 
the  infinite  being  looks  through  the  subjectiveness  of  all 
his  creatures,  and  knows  (if  possessed  of  consciousness) 
that  those  formations  which  we  term  natural  objects  are 
only  his  own  thoughts,  and  are  not  separated  from  him. 

But  although  all  nature  is  in  itself  absolute  self-move- 
ment, yet  every  individual  part  or  organ  in  that  nature  is 
not  in  its  individuality  capable  of  perceiving  itself  in  this 
self-movement.  There  are  individual  beings  in  which  that 
self-movement  has  not  yet  been  matured  into  self-intuition. 
Matter,  for  instance,  is  existence  in  its  first  form,  the  root 
of  all  things,  whose  two  factors  are  expansion  and  contrac- 
tion. These  two  factors  in  the  world  of  matter  are  analo- 
gous to  intuition  and  apprehension  in  that  of  mind.  The 
expansive  force  is  the  first  positive  factor  as  it  produces 


421 


space  and  extension.  Time  is  the  negation  of  space,  that 
which  retards  in  the  movement,  and  constitutes  the  succes- 
sion in  activity.  By  it  the  universe  obtains  unity,  and  the 
individual  its  boundaries.  So  also  the  universe  its  eternity, 
and  the  individual  its  relative  duration. 

Schelling  regards  gravity  as  the  relatively  preponderat- 
ing force  in  objective  nature,  and  that  it  appears  as  mat- 
ter. On  the  contrary,  light,  which  he  defines  to  be  the 
internal  tremulous  motion  of  matter,  he  regards  as  the 
thinking,  the  internal  intuition  of  nature  by  herself.  It  is 
the  soul,  the  spiritual  activity  of  the  world.  The  whole 
formation  of  nature  has  proceeded  from  the  mutual  struggle 
of  light  and  gravity.  This  necessarily  supposes  a  history,^ 
and  this  history  a  progress.  There  is  no  rational  life  with- 
out progress,  and  no  life  without  struggle. 

The  process  into  which  light  and  matter  first  enter  is  the 
magnetic-electro-cliemical  one.  The  chemical  one  is  the 
arrested  organic  process.  In  the  stage  of  the  finite  light 
is  the  soul  or  moving  principle  of  nature,  ruling  over  mat- 
ter as  far  as  gravity  will  permit.  In  this  struggle  matter  is 
developed  into  its  thousand  diversified  forms ;  those  forms 
constituting  individually  finite  inorganic  pieces,  but* when 
considered  in  the  total,  are  the  life-endowed  members  of  the 
infinite  body  of  nature,  or  of  the  whole  material  world. 

Gravity  manifests  itself  between  individual  bodies  as 
power  of  cohesion,  or  as  magnetism,  endeavoring  to  com- 
prehend together  all  individuality,  and  to  exhibit  matter 
as  a  continuity.  The  totality  of  material  existence  to 
which  this  tends  is  represented  under  the  schema  of  an 
infinite  magnet ;  and  by  this  he  means  a  line  whose  poles 
exhibit  existence,  that  is  the  coming  forward  of  the  expan- 
sive and  contractive  force  in  their  activity.  Electricity  he 
regards  as  the  eternal  universal  bond,  which  manifests  in 
the  individual  the  imperfectness  of  every  individual  as  such, 
and  hence  only  the  completeness  of  two  that  are  antago- 


'  ChalyhauH,  287. 


,/ 


422 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZxiTION. 


nistic,  while  magnetism,  as  the  temporal  bond,  endeavors 
at  the  apprehension  of  the  same  in  the  individualities. 
Magnetism  is  the  expression  of  the  unity  of  two  opposites. 
It  is  in  one,  what  electricity  is  in  two  bodies. 

Gravity  and  light  are  antagonistic ;  the  first  producing 
a  stronger  cohesion,  a  more  perfect  magnet,  expelling  the 
luminous  essence  which  manifests  itself  as  heat;  the  latter 
expanding  and  loosing  the  bonds  of  cohesion. 

If  nature  is  regarded  as  one  infinite  organism,  then  every 
part  is  only  serviceable  to  the  whole,  and  has  by  itself  no 
existence  and  no  aim  ;  the  only  aim  of  its  existence  being  to 
fulfill  a  definite  function  for  the  whole.  But  nature,  by 
virtue  of  its  final  aim,  more  perfectly  to  develop  its  proper 
essence,  and  in  that  development  to  render  it  object  for 
itself,  tends  always  to  greater  and  greater  individuation  of 
objects,  even  in  the  individual.  Hence  it  aims,  as  much  to 
exhibit  relative  totalities  in  the  individual,  as,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  again  swallows  up  all  these  totalities  in  the  one 
grand  organism.  Hence  the  individual  may  exhibit  a 
microcosm,  an  organism,  a  perfected  exhibition  by  one 
particular  life  of  the  universal  life  of  the  substance. 

"  It  is,"  says  Schelling,  "  that  same  unity  of  the  grand 
whole  and  its  individual  parts  which  contains  and  provides 
everything,^  which  moderates  the  movements  of  universal 
nature,  those  silent  and  continuous  ones  as  well  as  the 
violent  and  sudden  changes  in  accordance  with  the  idea  of 
the  whole,  and  always  brings  back  everything  into  the 
eternal  circle;  it  is  that  same  divine  unity  which,  infinitely 
desirous  of  aflirmation,  also  forms  itself  into  animal  and  into 
plant,  and  which,  if  once  the  moment  of  its  coming  for- 
ward is  decided,  aims  with  irresistible  power  to  transform 
earth,  air,  and  water  into  living  beings,  into  images  of  its 
universal  life." 

The  chemical  process  Schelling  regards  as  organizing, 
but  one  which  continually  miscarries.      This  arises  out  of 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


423 


the  fact  that  nature  is  as  yet  perfectly  detained  and  occupied 
in  the  fluctuating,  and  is  unable  to  apprehend  or  seize  it- 
self at  any  point,  as  each  individual  part  obeys  a  law 
situate  without  itself.  Hence  nature  presents  itself  no 
where  as  self-subsistent  life  in  itself.  This  it  only  attains 
when  it  reaches  the  organism  of  the  individual. 

"  The  life  and  existence  of  organic  beings  depen(^  upon 
this,  that  the  chemical  process  which  is  running  out  in  them 
is  always  again  renewed,  that  an  antagonistic  process  is  con- 
tinuously opposed  in  them  to  the  former  process  and  thus 
organic  life  is  a  process  of  processes,  which,  in  their  suc- 
cession, do  mutually  anew  call  forth  each  other.'' 

The  two  organized  bodies  are  the  plant  and  the  animal. 
In  the  former  the  chemical  process  eftects  a  continuous 
decomposition  into  hydrogen  and  oxygen.  The  continued 
and  fresh  supply  of  the  latter  is  accomplished  by  means  of 
light.  In  the  latter  the  continuous  restoring  of  capacity 
in  the  organs,  consists  in  the  irritability  with  which  they 
are  endowed,  and  which  manifests  itself  as  mobility.  The 
system  of  its  movements  is  a  mechanism  shut  up  within 
itself,  and  by  that  means  enabling  it  to  attain  free  or  self- 
movement.  But  the  actual  attainment  of  it  depends  on 
another  faculty  of  animal  nature,  which  stands  opposed  to 
irritability,  and  that  is  sensibility  which  first  awakens  in 
the  animal.  Irritability  and  sensibility  mutually  determine 
each  other,^  the  former  furnishing  the  material,  the  posi- 
tive; the  latter  the  form,  the  negative,  while  only  both  of 
them  together  produce  the  formation,  which  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  peculiar  life  of  organic  beings.  The  com- 
prehending together  in  one  notion  irritability  and  sensibility 
gives,  according  to  Schelling,  the  notion  of  instinct,  that 
being  the  tendency  to  motion  determined  by  sensibility. 

Irritability  and  sensibility  belong  wholly  to  the  sphere  of 
blind  activity,  which  obtains  also  in  the  animal  portion  of 
human  life.     They  are  devoid  of  consciousness.     The  latter 


'I 


^Chnlyhaiis,  283. 


*  Chalyhaus,  287. 


i      I 


424 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


425 


only  occurs  wben  the  activity  which  had  at  first  wholly 
entered  in,  and  been  absorbed  by  its  product,  separates 
itself  from  that  product,  spontaneously  repeats  itself,  has 
intuition  of  itself,  as  activity,  and  thus  becomes  an  object 
to  itself  in  the  same  manner  it  had  formerly  been  to  an 
on-looker  standing  without.  When  the  activity,  which 
first  t^kes  place  blindly  and  instinctively,  makes  itself 
within  itself  the  object,  then  the  tremulous  movement  that 
which  had  been  felt,  and  which  had  been  unconsciously 
present,  would  be  transformed  into  sensation,  which  is  the 
first  stage  of  consciousness.  So  long  as  the  activity  of  the 
living  subject  continues  to  enter  wholly  into  its  product, 
no  consciousness  can  take  place.  The  feeling  will  be  as 
in  a  dream.     There  is  no  feeling  that  it  feels. 

Nature  attains  its  highest  stage  in  man.  Here  every- 
thing which  had  hitherto  only  existed  as  objective,  as  the 
whole  sphere  of  unconsciously  operative  nature,  passes 
immediately  to  the  other  side,  viz:  that  of  objectiveness, 
leaving  behind  it  only  pure  subjectiveness. 

Schelling  concedes  that  nature  throughout  acts  in  con- 
formity to  a  design,  but  not  with  purpose,  and  hence  that 
all  its  products  will  also  be  conformable  to  design,  although 
not  brought  about  with  the  consciousness  of  any  such. 
While,  therefore,  nature  exhibits  adaptation  to  design,  and 
wisdom,  it  is  accounted  for  only  on  the  ground  that  the 
unconscious  activity  of  nature,  "  the  dream  life  of  the  spirit 
of  nature  in  its  unconsciousness  necessarily  harmonizes 
with  the  conscious  activity,"  the  former  being  in  itself  the 
same  as  the  latter  has  actually  become  to  itself. 

While  the  mechanism  of  nature  is  blind,  it  is  still  in  that 
mechanism  adapted  to  a  design.  The  charm  possessed  by 
organic  nature  in  all  its  surroundings  grows  out  of  the  con- 
tradiction that  while  itself  the  product  of  blind  natural 
forces,  it  is  nevertheless  all  through,  both  externally  and 
internally,  adapted  to  design.^     The  immanent  life  in  nature 


is  that  UD reflected  mode  of  intuition  which,  although  un- 
conscious, yet  acts  like  consciousness  and  as  blind  tendency 
in  nature,  is  all  the  more  certainly  operating  according  to 
design.*  Hence,"  says  Schelling, "  although  we  see  animals 
moving,  as  it  were,  unconsciously  we  witness  their  perform- 
ance of  innumerable  efiects,  which  are  much  more  splendid 
than  themselves.  We  see  the  bird  intoxicated,  as  it  were, 
by  music,  surpassing  itself  in  melodies  full  of  deep  feeling; 
the  little  creature,  endowed  with  art  performing  without 
practice  or  instruction  works  of  architecture,  but  all  of  them 
are  directed  by  one  all  powerful  spirit,  which  while  in 
them  it  shines  forth  in  individual  flashes  of  cognition,  yet 
displays  itself  only  in  man  as  the  sun  in  his  full  strength." 

In  arriving  at  man  we  have  reached  the  spiritual  region. 
Here  there  is  nothing  but  knowing,  a  knowing  which  has 
the  whole  real  world  of  existence  presented  to  it  as  some- 
thing placed  oyer  against  it,  as  existence.  That  world  has 
become  the  intuition  of  its  own  intuition.  The  infinite 
here  dwells  in,  and  mingles  with,  the  finite.  It  exists  in 
the  finite  as  that  which  is  ideal,  as  knowing,  as  conscious- 
ness. It  gives  to  man  all  his  poetry,  all  his  inspiration,  all 
his  longings  after  the  beautiful,  all  his  yearnings  for  the 
sublime.  The  first  revelation  of  the  infinite,  therefore,  is 
art.  The  whole  art-world  is  only  a  projection  from  the 
infinite. 

A  second  stage  of  the  infinite  is  that  of  religious  faith. 
While  this  is  absorbed  in  apprehending  the  all-unitous,  as 
the  all-one  in  the  highest  abstraction  of  being,  it  loses 
sight  of  what  is  sensuous  and  finite,  by  considering  it  as  a 
mere  momentum  of  the  all-one,  and  as  in  itself  thoroughly 
nonentical. 

The  third,  and  last  stage,  consists  in  a  comprehension  of 
the  true  relationship  between  the  subjective  and  the  objec- 
tive, in  absolute  knowledge  or  in  true  philosophy,  which 
unites  the  objectiveness  of  art  with  the  subjectiveness  of 


'  CTudyhaus,  293. 


^       *  ChaXyhaus,  293. 
Vl] 


54 


••I 


426 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


i  I 


religion.  In  the  accomplishment  successively  and  success- 
fully of  these  different  stages,  "  the  infinite  world-drama 
unfolds  itself  as  a  history,  whose  commencement  dates  from 
the  eternity  that  preceded  the  present  creation."  ^ 

As  to  the  origin  of  finite  beings  it  is  obvious  that  upon 
the  system  of  Schelling  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  a 
creation  in  the  proper  sense  of  that  term.  His  system 
completely  reverses  the  course  of  creation.  As  we  under- 
stand it,  the  infinite  spirit  preceded  creation,  and,  by  his 
own  self-moved,  creative  act,  called  into  being  everything 
that  exists.  According  to  Schelling,  matter  in  its  purely 
inorganic  form  was  the  original  substance,  and  only  pre- 
ceeded  by  the  potentia  which  as  yet  did  not  exist.  Then 
the  progress  was  by  successive  steps  and  stages.  "  The 
subjective  rose  in  matter  more  and  more  victoriously  from 
stage  to  stage,  as  life,  light,  and  spirit,  until  it  attained 
absolute  subjectiveness,  that  is,  pure  ideality,  to  which 
everything  else  had  become  objective,  had  assumed  the 
garb  of  the  real."  Thus  spirit,  according  to  Schelling,  was 
not  the  first  but  the  last  which  came  forth,  nor  can  we,  in 
any  sense,  consider  it  as  the  creator  of  the  world.  This 
infinite  spirit,  absolute  subject,  world-m^,  is  in  its  highest 
stage  the  world-spirit,  which  is  in  the  macrocosm  that 
which  human  consciousness  is  in  the  microcosm.  In  the 
same  sense  as  the  human  impregnated  germ,  without  pur- 
pose or  object,  develops  itself  into  a  perfect  organism,  and 
at  last  arrives  at  self-consciousness,  so  infinite  nature  deve- 
loped itself  in  the  world  until  it  entered  upon  the  stage  of 
spirituality,  that  is,  it  canie  to  know,  came  to  objectivize 
itself  in  its  own  perfected  work,  the  same  work  which  at 
the  same  time  always  is  and  remains.  And  when  arrived 
at  this  stage  the  activity  of  nature  has  reached  its  limit 
and  ceases  to  be  productive.  It  then  turns  to  thinking 
and  becomes  only  ideal.  It  becomes  purely  subjective,  and 
produces  only  thoughts,  ideas,  formal  repetitions  of  the 


(Jhalybaus,  298. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


427 


creative  activity.  "  It  exists  as  a  particular  function  of  the 
life-activity,  as  a  higher  one,  as  meity,  self-consciousness, 
without  being  in  itself  really  different  from  the  life  power.^ 
Thus  the  individual  human  soul  is  both  the  blind  working 
and  self-formative  tendency  of  life,  and  is  in  a  higher 
function,  at  the  same  time  also  self-contemplative,  thinking, 
or  self-consciousness." 

The  absolute  is  all-producing  nature,  and  acts  in  and 
through  all  its  products,  nor  is  in  any  way  separated  from 
them.  These  products,  all  natural  objects,  do  not  exist  at 
all  by  themselves,  and  as  separate  beings.  They  are  only 
the  activity  of  nature  arresting  and  fixing  itself  in  the 
course  of  its  own  operations.  It  is  only  in  man  that  the 
absolute  becomes  perfect  subject,  becomes  actual  know- 
ledge, and  is  no  longer  mere  real  working.  I^ature,  in 
man  steps  out  of  its  workshop  and  contemplates  itself. 
Man  is  that  thought  of  nature  in  which  it  represents  itself, 
he  is  the  perfect  portraiture  of  the  absolute,  for  he  is  abso- 
lute himself  His  absoluteness  consists  in  his  freedom,  he 
has  within  himself  the  principle  of  meiUj^  and,  in  this  re- 
spect, represents  the  absolute  ineitij  of  the  world-me. 

The  world-spirit  continued  marching  on  in  its  eternal 
process  of  production  until  it  attained  the  stage  of  self-con- 
sciousness. Then  occurred  the  antagonizing  of  subjec- 
tiveness and  objectiveness;  the  last  object  presented  being 
the  idea  of  man,  of  reason,  cognizing  itself. 

Schelling  maintains  that  everything  which  proceeds  out 
of  the  unity  of  absolute  existence,^  or  which  appears  to 
separate  itself  from  it,  must  possess  in  it  already  the  possi- 
bility of  existing  by  itself;  but  the  actuality  of  separate 
existence  can  only  be  found  in  that  which  is  separated 
itself;  and  this  separation  can  again  only  be  ideal,  and  can 
only  take  place  in  the  measure,  that  a  being  has  been  ren- 
dered capable  of  existing  as  unity  to  itself,  by  the  mode  of 
its  existence  in  the  absolute. 


^  (Jlmlyha  us,  800.    '  Idem,  303. 


428 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


But  here  occurs  a  difficulty.  How  is  the  finite,  the 
product,  connected  with  the  absolute  ?  If  it  owes  both  its 
origin  and  continuance  to  the  all-unitous  absolute,  having 
in  it  its  root,  and  deriving  from  it  its  nourishment,  as  a 
part  from  the  whole  then  must  it  cease  to  have  any  separate 
or  independent  existence.  And  if  not,  then  it  must  be 
absolute  in  itself,  and  then  we  should  liave  a  plurality  of 
absolutes,  and  no  one  supreme.  This  difficulty  bears 
directly  upon  human  freedom  and  the  freedom  of  the  ab- 
solute. If  the  absolute  is  everything,  and  things  only  its 
temporary  forms,  or  if  it  alone  exists  giving  birth  out  of 
itself  to  all  the  transformations  which  result  in  things,  it  is 
obvious  that  beyond  it  can  neitlier  be  a  material  nor  a 
spiritual  world.  All  individuality,  or  prevalence  of  indi- 
vidual will,  would  be  annihilated. 

To  obviate  this  difficulty  Schelling  endeavors  to  esta- 
blish a  theory  of  creation  in  accordance  with  which  man,  so 
far  as  regards  his  essence,  may  have  his  root  in  the  abso- 
lute ;  but  as  to  the  form  of  his  existence,  may  be  self-sub- 
sisting. At  the  same  time  the  absolute,  although  entering 
into  all  its  productions,  still  appears,  as  to  its  form,  the 
absolute,  persisting  by  itself  above  and  without  those  pro- 
ductions. He  does  not  intend  wholly  to  separate  things, 
or  men,  so  far  as  regards  their  real  essence  from  the  abso- 
lute, or  to  disjoin  them  from  all  connection  with  universal 
powers.  He  thinks  it  conceivable  that,  so  far  as  concerns 
man's  real  essence,  he  may  be  an  integral  part  in  the 
absolute,  while  he  continues  in  a  form  of  existence  which 
clothes  him  with  the  character  of  the  absolute,  or  of  self- 
subsistence.  He  is  well  termed  a  consequence  and  a  modi- 
fication of  the  absolute,  but  in  that  respect,  he  has  only  a 
one-sided  relationship  to  the  universal  absolute,  while  in 
other  respects,  he  may  be  the  very  opposite  as  a  child  is 
the  consequence  of  his  parent,  although  he  may  possess 
very  opposite  qualities. 

Schelling  claims  that  the  immanency  of  the  absolute  in 
us,  or  our  immanency  in  the  absolute,  is  the  only  means  of 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


429 


preserving  our  freedom.  But  here  another  difficulty  occurs 
relating  to  the  existence  of  evil.  If  everything  originates 
from,  and  is  sustained  by,  the  absolute,  how  is  the  existence 
of  evil  to  be  accounted  for?  Schelling  attempted  explana- 
tion in  some  of  his  later  writings,  and  in  doing  so,  he  pene- 
trated beyond  the  limits  of  his  former  philosophy  of  nature, 
and  seems  to  feel  that  the  ultimate  key  to  the  enigma  of  the 
world  is  not  to  be  sought  in  the  physically  and  blindly 
operating  laws,  nor  in  the  categories  of  nature,  but  in  the 
ethical  categories  of  liberty.  He  asserts  that  it  is  in  free- 
dom that  the  last  potentiating  act  is  to  besought,  by  which 
all  nature  transforms  itself  into  sensation,  into  intelligence, 
and  finally  into  volition.  That  in  the  last  and  highest 
instance,  there  is  no  other  existence,  save  willing.  That 
willing  is  original  existence,  and  all  the  predicates  of  that 
existence  apply  to  it  alone,  viz ;  groundlessness,  independ- 
ence of  time,  and  self-affirmation,  and  that  all  philosophy 
aims  only  to  find  that  expression.^ 

Still  the  difficulty  occurs  of  freeing  the  absolute  from 
the  charge  of  evil.  And  to  effect  this  he  suggests  *'that 
the  immanency  of  the  absolute  in  the  finite  may  not  be 
surrendered,  but  that  part  of  the  absolute  or  of  the  divine, 
which  is  immanent  in  the  finite  being,  cannot  be  the  whole 
absolute  essence  of  the  deity,  nor  can  it  be  especially  that, 
which  in  the  absolute  peculiarly  constitutes  that  which  is 
divine.^  But  this  leads  us  to  a  distinoruishine  somethino- 
in  God  himself,  which  even  in  him  cannot  be  designated 
as  divine,  or  to  an  aspect  of  the  absolute,  from  which  if  it 
be  looked  upon,  itself  is  not  divine;  for,  if  things  are  to 
be  separated  from  God  in  some  manner,  and  if  their  imma- 
nency is  nevertheless  to  be  preserved,  then  must  they  have 
their  ground  in  that  which  in  God  is  not  God  himself." 

But  it  may  be  asked  what  that  is  in  God  which  is  not 
himself?  Or,  from  what  aspect  is  it,  that  if  the  absolute 
be  viewed,  it  is  not  to  be  designated  as  God. 


'  Chalyhmfs,  312.    "" Mm,  314. 


430 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


The  above  position  of  Schelliiig  is  put  forward  barely  as 
a  suggestion,  as  a  possibility,  but  it  is  quite  obvious  that 
its  truth  would  mar  his  entire  system,  if  not  utterly  destroy 
it;  for  if  the  identity  between  the  absolute  and  the  finite 
is  to  be  preserved,  then  the  essence,  which  is  originally 
one  and  absolute,  must  in  some  way  or  other,  enter  into 
the  finite,  and  be  immanent  in  it.  Thus  we  have  a  system 
of  pantheism  which  identifies  creative  power  with  the 
thing  created,  transforms  God  into  the  world-spirit,  and 
acquaints  us  with  no  higher  intelligence  than  that  which 
is  found  in  the  self-consciousness  of  man. 

George  William  Frederick  Hegel  was  born  at  Stuttgard, 
in  the  year  1770.  He  was  professor  successively  at  Jena, 
Heidelberg,  and  Berlin,where  he  died  of  the  cholera  in  1831. 

Hegel  took  root  both  in  Schelling  and  Fichte.  He 
adopted  the  method  of  the  latter  and  the  philosophical 
stand  point  of  the  former.  His  undertaking  was  to  reduce 
that,  "  which  by  the  vision  of  genius  the  author  of  the 
modern  philosophy  of  nature  had  discovered  and  sketched 
in  an  aphoristic  manner,^  into  the  stable  form  of  a  regular 
scientific  system."  His  endeavor  was  to  fuse  together  the 
scattered  elements  of  Schelling's  philosopliy  by  means  of 
the  absolute  method.  While  he  lacked  the  invention  of 
Schelling,  he  possessed  greater  logical  acumen,  and  a  far 
more  rigorous  method. 

The  German  philosophy  had  been  in  a  constant  state  of 
development,  or  evolution,  from  the  time  of  Kant.  His 
system  admitted  a  double  principle  as  the  basis  of  all  philo- 
sophizing. The  one  was  found  in  the  subjective  forms  of 
the  understanding.  The  other  in  the  empirical  element, 
which,  uniting  with  these  forms,  gave  rise  to  real  know- 
ledge. Thus  he  proclaimed  the  bans  between  the  ideal- 
istic and  the  realistic,  placing,  however,  the  ultimate  control 
rather  with  the  former  than  the  latter. 


*  Chalybaus,  344^ 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


431 


]N"ext  followed  Fichte,  who  exalted  idealism  to  so  enor- 
mous a  height,  that  it  remained  alone  without  a  competitor. 
He  resolved  all  knowledge  into  human  consciousness, 
aflirming  that  we  can  know  nothing  with  any  certainty 
except  it  be  the  act  of  our  own  consciousness.  With  him, 
philosophy  takes  its  stand  upon  the  subjective  principle, 
and  all  knowledge,  like  the  web  spun  by  the  spider,  is  to 
be  drawn  entirely  from  the  action  of  the  mind  in  and  upon 
itself 

Schelling  very  clearly  perceived  that  this  exaltation  of 
the  cgOy  rendered  it  the  absolute  generating  principle  of 
all  things,  and  reduced  the  world  to  occupy  simply  the  posi- 
tion of  a  shadow  projected  by  its  own  laws.  Or  if  he 
allowed  the  terms  of  subject  and  object  to  have  a  distinct 
existence  he  failed  in  presenting  a  single  and  absolute 
basis  for  human  knowledge,  and  philosophy  once  more 
returned  to  lose  herself  in  the  wranglings  and  controversies 
of  the  realist,  the  idealist,  and  the  skeptic.  To  escape  from 
this  difliculty  he  afiirmed  the  fundamental  unity  and  inti- 
mate identity  of  subject  and  object,  regarding  them  as  the 
two  poles  of  existence,  which  although  separate  in  their 
manifestations,  were  nevertheless  always  infallibly  leading 
the  one  to  the  other.  Schelling  was  never  able  to  give 
unity  to  his  system.  He  could  never  find  the  point  of 
indiflference.  The  poles  always  remained  apart.  There 
were  no  forces  contained  in  his  system  that  could  compel 
them  to  come  into  proximity  with  each  other. 

Hegel,  following  Schelling,  goes  further  and  affirms  that 
subject  and  object,  thought  and  existence,  are  absolutely 
one,  and  that  the  only  actual  reality  is  that  which  results 
from  their  mutual  relation.  Take  for  illustration  the  idea 
of  a  mountain.  Fichte  would  derive  it  from  the  mind's 
own  inward  activity.  Schelling  would  claim  that  its  out- 
ward existence  and  inward  perception  are  both  real,  are 
the  two  poles  of  its  existence,  and  both  are  but  manifesta- 
tions of  the  absolute  essence  in  diflereut  stages  of  its  de- 
velopment. 


432 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


433 


Hegel  would  deny  both  the  outward  existence  and  the 
inward  perception  in  their  separateneas  of  existence,  ckum- 
ing  that  neither  could  exist  alone.  He  finds  the  only  real- 
ity in  the  relation,  or  synthesis  of  the  two,  and  makes  the 
essence  or  nature  of  being  itself  to  consist  in  the  coexist- 
ence of  two  opposites.  Ideas,  in  his  view,  arising  from  the 
union  of  two  opposites,  are  concrete  realities,  and  the  pro- 
cess of  their  evolution  is,  at  the  same  time,  that  of  all  ex- 
istence, the  absolute  God.  He  also  makes  logic  the  neces- 
sary basis  of  absolute  idealism. 

The  Hegelian  philosophy  begins  by  attempting  a  concep- 
tion of  the  laws  of  thought.  The  following  is  his  explana- 
tion of  the  process  of  knowing.  This  is  accomplished 
through  consciousness,  and  is  rendered  complete  in  three 
movements : 

The  first  is  that  in  which  consciousness  is  so  conditioned 
that  it  is  one  with  the  object.^  The  knowledge  of  the 
external  world  could  never  be  derived  from  pure  sensation. 
All  that  can  be  extracted  from  it  is  bare  feeling.  To  attain 
a  knowledge  of  any  object,  there  must  be  a  complete  blend- 
ing of  subject  and  object. 

In  the  second  we  objectify,  sensation  becomes  perception, 
and  our  feeling  is  referred  to  some  real  outward  existence, 
as  the  cause.  Here  appears  the  understanding,  the  faculty 
by  which  the  separation  between  subject  and  object  is 
effected. 

The  third  process  is  that  in  which  our  consciousness  again 
returns  into  a  state  of  complete  union  with  the  object.  In 
this  we  perceive  the  object  as  a  product  or  process  of  our 
own  minds.  While  as  an  outward  reality  it  is  destroyed, 
as  a  process  of  our  own  consciousness  it  is  preserved. 
This  has  the  same  relation  to  the  reason  as  the  former  had 
to  the  understanding.  This  procedure  by  which  every- 
thing comes  into  being  is  regarded  as  the  soul  and  essence 
of  life,  nature,  and  even   the  absolute;    and   deity  itself 


which  in  other  systems  was  an  original  and  self-existent 
reality,  is  here  reduced  to  a  simple  process  or  movement, 
whose  essence  consists  in  ever  unfolding  itself,  and  in  never 
being  completely  unfolded.^  God  has  no  other  realization 
than  that  which  is  attained  by  him  in  the  progress  of  hu- 
man consciousness,  but  the  process  by  which  this  realization 
is  affbcted  is  absolutely  synonymous  with  himself.  Thus 
with  Hegel  everything  is  resolvable  into  dialectic  process. 
It  is  nature,  his  method,  his  deity,  his  everything.  All  are 
but  pulsations  of  this  movement,  God  himself  being  only 
the  same  law  taken  absolutely  in  its  whole  comprehension. 
Thus  we  have  a  universe  made  out  of  pure  relations,  and 
the  process  —  method  —  elevated  to  the  absolute  idea,  God. 
Hegel's  stand  point  is  the  absolute  idea.  But  this  is 
neither  infinite  substance,  nor  infinite  subject,  nor  infinite 
mind.  It  is  only  a  perpetual  process,  an  eternal  thinking, 
which  is  equally  without  beginning  or  end.  This  thought 
process  is  with  him  identical  with  the  logical  evolution  of 
ideas  in  the  human  mind.  In  this  evolution  he  finds  the 
idea  dividing  itself  into  two  opposites,  the  one  being  the 
negation  of  the  other,  the  idea  hanging  in  a  balance 
between  the  two.  But  this  negation  is  met  by  another 
negation  which  restores  the  idea.  The  same  process  is 
again  repeated,  at  each  turn  evolving  the  idea  to  a  higher 
degree,  and  thus  it  proceeds  until  it  reaches  the  absolute 

idea  itself. 

The  threefold  movement  discernible  in  the  human  mind 
was  transferred  by  Hegel  to  the  whole  universe  of  thought. 
There,  also,  he  claimed  there  were  three  successive  steps, 
or  stages.  The  first,  is  the  infinite  idea  in  itself.  The 
second,  the  idea  in  its  objective  form.  The  third,  the  idea 
in  its  regress.  These  movements  give :  1.  Bare  thought. 
2.  Thought  externalizing  itself,  nature.  3.  Thought  re- 
turning to  itself,  mind. 


^M&reU,^m. 


'  Morell,  461. 
VI] 


55 


Tim  .. 


434 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


435 


y 


ii*'*i 


This  gives  occasion  to  a  threefold  division  of  philosophy, 
viz: 

I.  Logic. 

n.  Philosophy  of  nature. 

in.  Philosophy  of  mind. 

The  first  appropriates  the  region  of  bare  thinking. 

The  second,  that  of  thought  in  its  objective  forms. 

The  third  that  of  thought  in  its  reflective  movement  in 
the  human  soul. 

The  whole  mission  of  philosophy,  according  to  Hegel,  is 
to  develop  existence  from  its  most  empty  and  abstract  form 
up  successively  through  logic,  nature  and  mind,  to  its 
highest  and  purest  elevation  as  attained  in  the  human  con- 
sciousness. And  here  again,  he  finds  the  same  process 
perpetually  repeating  itself,  and  gaining  something  fresh  at 
every  pulsation,  until  it  reaches  its  highest  point  of  possi- 
ble perfection. 

I.  Logic  exhibits  the  first  and  most  undeveloped  form 
of  the  absolute.  It  deals  with  thought  in  its  subjective 
processes,  and  is  never  satisfied  until  it  has  reached  a 
method  by  which  the  empty  may  gradually  become  rich 
and  full.  He  starts  by  claiming  that  all  knowledge  consists 
in  a  separation  or  distinguishing  of  one  thing  from 
another.  In  his  analysis  of  thought  he  finds  two  parts 
standing  opposed,  both  absolutely  necessary  to  give  it  a 
meaning.  This  applies  equally  to  sensation,  perception 
and  reflection.  In  reference  to  each  there  must  be  some- 
thing separated,  defined,  distinguished,  or  placed  in  oppo- 
sition to  something  else.  Illustrations  of  this  are  found  in 
the  fact,  the  finite  and  the  infinite,  cause  and  eftect,  sub- 
jective and  objective,  ^'either  of  these  can  be  conceived 
without  the  other. 

There  can,  therefore,  be  no  absolute  unity.  Every  idea 
must  consist  of  two  sides,  a  positive  and  a  negative,  and 
it  is  the  combination  of  these  that  forms  the  perfect  idea. 


This  he  terms  the  doctrine  of  contradiction.  In  his  view 
in  every  conception  of  the  reason  every  other  is  contained 
implicite,  and  may  be  dialectically  developed  from  it. 
The  domain  of  logic  he  considered  to  be  truth  as  it  is  per  se 
in  its  native  character,  characterizing  it  as  the  representa- 
tion of  God  as  he  is  in  his  eternal  being.  He  thus  carries 
logic  into  a  domain  of  shadows,  but  of  simple  essences 
wholly  freed  from  all  sensuous  matters  "  in  whose  diamond 
net  the  whole  universe  is  constructed." 

At  the  basis  and  foundation  of  all  thought  and  being  lie 
the  pure  conceptions  of  reason,  which  determine  all  sub- 
jective knowledge  and  objective  reality,  ideas  in  which  the 
ideal  and  the  real  have  their  point  of  coincidence.  The 
reason  must  be  held  responsible  for  deducing  the  whole 
system  of  knowledge  purely  from  itself,  without  anything 
being  taken  for  granted,  and  in  the  doing  of  this  some 
principle  must  be  sought  which  should  be  of  itself  certain, 
and  from  which  everything  else  could  be  derived. 

The  Hegelian  logic  is  divided  into  three  parts,  or  as  he 
terms  them  doctrines.     We  have : 

1.  The  doctrine  of  being. 

2.  The  doctrine  of  essence. 

3.  The  doctrine  of  conception. 

1.  Being,  in  the  view  of  Hegel,  is  the  primary  and  most 
abstract  of  all  notions.  With  him  thought  and  existence 
are  identical.  To  solve  the  problem  of  creation  he  goes 
backward  until  he  comes  to  nothing,  and  takes  that  as 
his  starting  point.  In  thus  going  back  and  negativing 
everything,  he  denies  that  the  result  is  what  we  understand 
by  nothing.  His  position  is  that  the  act  of  negation  is  af- 
firmation ;  that  a  pure  negative  is  a  concrete  positive ;  and 
that  the  negation  of  one  is  the  afiirming  of  many. 

Thus  in  applying  this  to  the  doctrine  of  being :  in  the 
negation  of  everything  he  posits  something.  Thus  the 
nothing  out  of  which  all  being  issues,  is  a  positive  idea, 
and  without  it  we  could  never  have  that  of  being.  The 
two  stand  to  one  another  as  opposites,  and  must  combine 


u 


486 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


437 


together  to  form  a  complete  notion,  and  this  combination  is 
the  point  of  production,  or  the  becoming  of  something  out 
of  nothing.  This  is  his  first  step,  the  original  primary 
pulsation  of  the  dialectic  process.  In  it,  something  or  being, 
and  nothing,  stand  as  the  two  opposite  poles,  and  out  of 
their  conjunction  arises  the  notion  of  existence.  In  these 
three,  the  two  opposites,  as  poles,  and  the  result,  we  re- 
cognize the  type  or  symbol  of  all  thought,  there  being  no 
complete  idea  possible  except  as  the  combination  of  two 
opposites.  Neither  one  of  these,  whether  it  be  being  or 
the  negation  of  all  being,  nothing  can  exist  as  a  reality  of 
itself,  and  the  one  no  more  than  the  other.  Each,  in 
reference  to  each  other,  stands  on  a  platform  of  perfect 
equality,  and'  is  but  the  opposite  pole  of  the  other.  It  is 
at  their  point  of  indifference  that  the  act  of  coming  into 
existence  first  makes  its  appearance. 

Having  reached  simple  existence,  at  the  indifierential 
point,  that  is  seized  hold  of,  and  subjected  to  the  dialec- 
tical process.  It  is  viewed  either  in  relation  to  itself,  or  in 
relation  to  the  things  around  it.  Here  arises  another 
opposition,  the  two  poles  of  which  are  this  and  that.  A 
thing  can  only  be  this  because  it  is  not  that.  The  office  of 
the  one  must  be  to  limit  or  bound  ofl:'  the  other,  Simple 
existence  alone  could  give  no  other  than  a  general  and  unde- 
fined idea.  There  would  be  nothing  to  compare  it  to,  and 
by  which  to  define  it.  The  notion  of  a  distinct  existence, 
that  which  is  itself  a  reality,  is  impossible  to  be  entertained 
without  the  negation,  as  well  as  the  affirmation,  of  being.  It 
is  impossible  to  affirm  any  real  thing  without  implying  in 
it  the  negation  of  a  certain  amount  of  attributes.  An 
animal  can  be  such  only  because  it  is  not  a  plant,  or  some- 
thing possessing  other  than  animal  attributes.  Here  then 
is  a  resort  to  the  category  of  quality,  and  by  means  of  the 
affirmation  and  negation  applied  to  this  category,  being 
limited  and  determined  results.  It  is  by  a  course  of  rea- 
soning similar  to  this,  that  we  arrive  at  the  notions  of  the 
finite  and  infinite.     The  finite  is  a  something  distinguished 


from  all  other  things,  being  limited,  circumscribed,  and 
bounded  off  by  them.  Eemove  those  boundaries,  destroy 
those  limitations,  and  it  goes  back  into  infinity.  Accord- 
ing to  this,  no  complete  ideas  of  the  finite  or  the  infinite 
can  be  formed  alone  or  disconnected  from  each  other,  as 
the  one  is  necessary  to  the  other,  and  both  are  the  results 
of  that  dialectical  process  by  which  we  are  enabled  to  rise 
from  the  bare  notion  of  being,  to  that  of  some  particular 
existence. 

While  the  category  of  quality  relates  to  the  inner  nature 
of  things,  that  of  quantity  regards  their  outward  form. 
This  may  relate  to  greatness,  number  or  degree. 

2.  The  doctrine  of  essence,  or  thought,  in.  its  communi- 
cation, gives  to  being  a  more  determined,  definite  form. 
The  immediate  being  of  things  is  represented  as  a  covering 
or  curtain,  behind  which  the  essence  is  concealed.  When, 
therefore,  in  contrast  with  the  essence  the  immediate  being 
standing  over  against  it,  is  a  mere  negative,  simply  an 
appearance,  the  being  appearing  in  the  essence.  In  the 
development  of  essence  are  presented  the  same  determina- 
tions found  in  the  development  of  being,  but  not  in  an 
immediate  form.  They  are  here  exhibited  in  a  reflected 
form.  In  the  former,  were  being  and  nothing  as  the  two 
poles ;  in  the  latter,  the  forms  of  the  positive  and  negative. 

This  second  movement  of  the  logical  process  answers  to 
that  second  movement  in  mind  in  which  the  understanding 
separates  the  object  from  the  consciousness,  and  places  it 
before  us  as  a  distinct  reality.  The  threefold  division 
occurs  here  also.  Essence  may  appear  either :  1.  As  the 
ground  or  substratum  of  existence,  or  ;  2.  As  phenome- 
non, that  is,  as  expressing  those  qualities  of  objects  which 
cannot  be  separated  from  them.  3.  A  real  thing  in 
contradistinction  from  that  universal  essence  of  which  it 
forms  a  part  is  conceived  of  by  uniting  the  notion  of  sub- 
stratum and  attribute.  Under  each  of  these  divisions  are 
included  many  philosophical  ideas  that  have  played  an 
important  part  in  most  metaphysical  systems.     Under  the 


Ir     I" 


488 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


439 


■i 


' 


It 


first  is  contained  the  deduction  of  the  notions  of  identity 
and  difference ;  of  concrete  existence ;  and  of  a  thing  as 
containing  properties  peculiar  to  itself.^  Under  the  second 
are  included  the  ideas  of  a  phenomenal  world,  of  matter 
and  form,  and  of  relation  generally,  deduced  in  philoso- 
phical order.  Under  the  third  we  have  the  union  of  the 
other  two,  giving  the  categories  of  substance,  of  cause, 
and  of  action  and  reaction.  The  dialectic  process,  under 
the  Hegelian  logic,  having  now  carried  us  from  being  alone 
to  essence  presenting  us  with  the  distinct,  essential,  real 
thing,  we  have  only  to  advance : 

3.  To  the  doctrine  of  conception,  or  thought,  in  its 
regress,  in  which  it  forms  a  complete  idea  in  itself  In 
regarding  generally  the  three  parts,  or  divisions,  of  the 
IJegelian  logic,  we  find  that  in  the  first  the  doctrine  of 
being  is  made  to  answer  to  the  abstract  conceptions  of  time 
and  space,  giving  only  those  ideas  which  are  purely  quali- 
tative or  quantitative.  That  of  essence  answers  to  time  and 
space,  not  in  the  abstract  but  the  concrete,  filled  up ;  the 
one  with  actual  existence ;  the  other  with  real  phenomena, 
such  as  those  of  substance,  attribute,  cause  and  eflfect. 

Lastly  comes  the  doctrine  of  conception,  or  of  notion,  re- 
ferring to  all  those  things  having  peculiar  characteristics 
of  their  own,  those  which  are  real  and  definable  objects 
whether  they  relate  to  existence  organized  or  unorganized. 
This  doctrine  also,  like  the  two  preceding,  has  its  three 
divisions : 

1.  The  conception  or  notion  in  its  subjective  point  of  view. 
This  gives  the  various  movements  of  the  mind  itself  in  its 
difterent  acts  or  states,  as  it  is  seen  in  the  apprehension, 
the  exercise  of  judgment,  the  power  of  reasoning. 

2.  The  objective  point  of  view.  This  gives  us  the  con- 
ceptions of  the  three  realms  of  nature,  the  mechanical,  the 
chemical,  and  the  organized.  The  mechanism  gives  us  the 
relation  of  objects  to  each  other;  the  chemism  the  inter- 


'  Mordl,  465* 


penetration  of  objects  and  their  neutralization  ;  the  teleo- 
logy, or  organism,  the  inner  design  of  objects. 

3.  The  idea,  the  union  of  subject  and  object,  the  end 
accomplishing  itself  This  also  has  three  successive  steps, 
for  the  Hegelian  philosophy  advances  mostly  in  triads : 

1.  The  process  of  life  the  immediate  existence  of  the  idea. 

2.  Intelligence.  3.  The  absolute  idea,  which  is  the  highest 
extent  to  which  the  power  of  conception  can  reach,  and 
is  synonymous  with  deity. 

In  all  this,  however,  there  is  nothing  beyond  the  empire 
of  pure  thinking.  By  means  of  it  the  evolution  of  thought 
is  traced  upwards  through  its  more  empty  and  abstract 
forms,  imparting  to  it  at  every  step  a  greater  fullness  and 
power  of  meaning  until  those  conceptions  are  reached  that 
have  their  embodiments  in  nature  and  the  soul.  These 
are  the  true  platonic  archetypes,  pure  thought  in  them- 
selves, to  which  the  universe  itself  is  perfectly  conformable. 

The  march  or  evolution  of  the  Hegelian  Logic,  in  its 
triadical  projections,  may  be  thus  exhibited : 
The  three  doctrines:  being,  essence,  conception. 
Triune   division  of  being:    1.    Quality.      2.    Quantity. 

3.  Measure. 

1.  Quality  subdivided  into:  a.  Being,  h.  Existence,  c. 
Independent  existence. 

2.  Quantity  is  subdivided  into  :  a.  Pure  quantity,  h. 
Divisible  quantity,     c.  Degree. 

3.  Measure  consists  in  the  unity  of  quality  and  quantity. 
Triune  division  of  essence :  1.  Ground  of  existence.     2. 

Phenomenon.  3.  Reality,  union  of  ground  and  pheno- 
menon. 

1.  Ground  of  existence  subdivided  into  :  a.  Pure  notions 
of  essence,     h.  Essential  existence,     c.  Thing. 

2.  Phenomenon  subdivided  into  :  a.  Phenomenal  world. 
b.  Matter  and  form.     c.  Relation. 

3.  Reality  subdivided  into :  a.  Relation  of  substance. 
b.  Relation  of  cause,     c.  Action  and  reaction. 


'.^■^1 


440 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Triune  division  of  conception  :   1.  Subjective.     2.  Ob- 
jective.    3.  Idea. 

1.  Subjective  subdivided  into:  a.  Notion  as  sucb.     b. 
Judgment,     c.  Inference. 

2.  Objective  subdivided  into  :  a.  Mechanism.    6.  Chem- 
ism.     c.  Teleology. 

3.  Idea   subdivided  into:    a.  Life,      b.  Intelligence,  c. 

Absolute  idea. 

n.  Philosophy  of  nature.  This  is  the  second  pillar,  or 
second  terra,  in  the  triad,  upon  which  reposes  the  Hegelian 
system,  that  of  logic  being  the  first.  The  region  of  logic 
was  limited  to  pure  intellection,  and  its  philosophy  con- 
cerns only  the  forms  of  thought.  But  in  nature  we  arrive 
at  a  different  region.  Here  is  the  idea  in  the  form  of  dif- 
ferentiation. It  is  still  thought,  but  it  is  thought  in  its  ob- 
jective  movement.  It  is  thought  externalizing  itself.  It  is 
mind  estranged  from  itself.  It  is  exactly  the  opposite  to 
logical  thinking.  The  problem  presented  is  to  seek  out 
the  intelligence  which  is  hidden  in  nature,  and,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  pursue  the  process  by  which  nature  loses  its 
own  character  and  becomes  mind.  The  products  of  nature 
neither  have  a  reference  to  themselves,  nor  correspond  to 
the  conception,  but  grow  up  in  unrestrained  contingency, 
mture,  according  to  Hegel,  is  a  bacchanalian  god,  who 
neither  bridles  nor  checks  himself.  It  represents  no  ideal 
succession,  rising  ever  in  regular  order;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, it  everywhere  obliterates  all  essential  limits  by  its 
doubtful  structures,  which  always  defy  every  fixed  classifi- 
cation. 

To  account  for  the  existence  of  nature,  Hegel  is  compelled 
to  make  the  absolute  idea  descend  from  its  original  unity 
as  subject-object  into  a  state  of  separation,  much  the  same 
as  in  pure  logical  thinking  he  makes  the  understanding  to 
separate  what  was  one  in  the  original  consciousness. 

The  pantheism  of  Hegel  is,  therefore,  different,  from  that 
of  Schelling.     The  latter  regarded  nature  as  a  part  of  the 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


441 


process  by  which  the  absolute  realized  itself  "With  him, 
therefore,  the  process  of  development  was  necessary,  and 
all  existence  was  the  play  of  a  supreme  fate.  According 
to  Hegel,  the  dialectic  movement  by  which  the  absolute 
separates  itself  and  externalizes  itself  in  nature,  is  perfectly 
free,  so  that  his  pantheism  did  not  profess  to  destroy  the 
notion  of  the  freedom  and  absolute  personality  of  God. 

Although,  however,  this  separation  is  free,  yet  it  has  its 
steps  or  stages  of  progress.     Commencing  with  the  imme- 
diate determination  of  nature,  with  the  abstract  univer- 
sality of  its  being  extra  se,  space  and  matter,  it  seeks  as 
its  end  the  dissevering  of  the  mind  from  nature  in  the  form 
of  a  rational  and  self-conscious  individuality,  man.     Hav- 
ing sought  and  found  the  intermediate  link  between  these 
two  extremes,  the  Hegelian  philosophy  then  attempts   to 
follow  out  successively  the  increasingly  successful  struggles 
of  nature  to  raise  itself  to  self-consciousness,  to  man.     As 
in   logic  the   absolute  process   appeared  in  its   threefold 
movement,  so  also  does  it  appear  in  the  three  corresponding 
ones  in  nature.     Nature,  as  well  as  logic,  has  its  triads  of 
progress,  passing  through  three  principal  stages.     Of  these 
we  have : 

1.  Mechanics,  in  which  nature  is  exhibited  in  its  most 
empty,  undetermined  forms.  Here  we  have  the  purely 
mathematical  ideas  of  matter,  as  existing  in  time,  space 
and  motion.  There  are  also  the  mechanical  properties  of 
matter  as  gravitation,  etc.,  and, in  addition,  the  absolute  pro- 
perties as  viewed  at  large  in  the  construction  of  the  material 
universe.  Gravity  he  regards  as  the  being  in  se  of  matter, 
the  guiding  thread  of  natural  philosophy,  that  which  evi- 
dences or  proclaims  the  desire  of  matter  to  come  to  itself, 
and  thus  shows  the  first  trace  of  subjectivity.  It  is  a  uni- 
versal centralizer,  and  this  tendency  to  centralization  is  its 
fundamental  conception.     Then  we  have: 

2.  Physics,  which  has  to  do  with  matter,  which  has  par- 
ticularized itself  in  a  body,  in  an  individuality.  Matter 
by  virtue  of  its  possessing  qualities  becomes  an  object  of 

VI]  56 


442 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


physics.  It  therefore  regards  all  the  general  forms  of  mat- 
ter; also  the  phenomena  of  specific  gravity,  of  cohesion, 
elasticity,  etc.,  and  in  addition  all  the  specific  forms  which 
it  may  assume,  as  acids,  alkalies,  metals,  etc.  To  this  pro- 
vince belongs  inorganic  nature,  its  forms  and  reciprocal 
references.     Then  we  have : 

3.  Organics.  The  purely  inorganic  properties,  as  cohe- 
sion, etc.,  are  lost  in  the  chemical  process,  and  this  latter 
is,  in  its  turn,  overcome  by  the  organic  or  living  process  of 
nature.  The  living  body  resists  chemical  process.  Life  is 
self-preservation,  self-end.  l^ature  in  physics  had  risen  to 
individuality,  in  organics  to  subjectivity.  Here  again  we 
have  three  successive  steps  or  stages.     Life  appears : 

1.  In  the  mineral  kingdom,  the  geological  organism. 
This  exhibits  only  its  general  image.  The  mineral  kingdom 
is  the  result  and  residuum  of  a  life  process  and  formation 
already  passed.  "  The  primitive  rock  is  the  stiffened  crystal 
of  life  and  the  geological  earth  is  a  giant  corpse." 

2.  In  the  vegetable  kingdom  the  organism  of  plants. 
The  plant  is  the  product  of  a  formative  process,  but  it 
has  not  yet  risen  to  a  totality  perfectly  organized  in  itself. 
It  has  not  attained  to  a  true  unity,  a  perfect  individuality. 
Its  parts  are  indifferently  related  to  each  other.  The 
branches  may  become  roots  and  the  roots  branches.  Each 
part  is,  in  one  sense,  the  whole  individual,  each  twig  the 
whole  tree.     Another  advance  brings  us : 

3.  To  animal  kingdom,  animal  organism.  Here  is  first 
found  an  uninterrupted  intres-susception,  free  nlotion,  and 
sensation.  In  man,  which  is  its  highest  form,  the  spirit, 
which  works  through  nature,  apprehends  itself  as  the  ego, 
the  conscious  individuality.  In  doing  this  it  becomes  a 
free,  rational  self,  having  completed  its  self-emancipation 

from  nature. 

Let  us  now  see  how  the  philosophy  of  nature  is  also  cast 

in  triads.     We  have : 

1.  Mechanics. 

2.  Physics. 

3.  Organics. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


443 


1.  Mechanics  is  included  under:  a.  Mathematical  pro- 
perties, b.  Mechanical  properties,  c.  Properties  of  abso- 
lute motion  in  space. 

2.  Physics  is  included  under:  a.  General  forms  of 
matter,  h.  Relative  forms  of  matter,  c.  Specific  forms  of 
matter. 

3.  Organics  is  included  under :  a.  Geological  structure. 
h.  Vegetable  structure,     c.  Animal  structure. 

ni.  Philosophy  of  mind  supplies  the  third  and  only 
remaining  pillar  of  Hegel's  system.  This  philosophy  begins 
where  that  of  physics  terminates.  Like  all  that  precedes 
it,  it  is  projected  in  triads.     Of  these  we  have : 

1.  The  subjective  mind,  and  this  is  mind  removed  from 
its  estrangement,  and  becom^es  identical  with  itself.  Its 
formal  essence  is  freedom,  which  embraces  the  possibility 
of  abstracting  itself  from  everything  else.  Its  material 
essence  consists  in  the  capacity  of  manifesting  itself  as 
mind,  as  a  conscious  rationality.  But  in  order  to  reach 
its  highest  possible  point  of  attainment  it  must  pass  through 
a  series  of  stages  or  emancipative  acts.     Of  these  the 

First  is  anthropology,  which  expresses  that  mind  which  is 
at  first  soul  or  spirit  of  nature  ;  which  comes  from  nature, 
and  rises  from  its  externality  to  being.  As  a  spirit  of 
nature,  it  sympathizes  with  the  general  planetary  life  of 
the  earth,  is  aftected  by  difference  in  climate,  in  seasons  and 
in  different  geographical  portions.  It  is  related  to  diversity, 
race.  It  bears  a  national  type,  and  is  determined  by  mode 
of  life,  formation  of  body,  etc.,  and  these,  in  their  turn, 
work  upon  the  intelligent  and  moral  character.  This  doc- 
trine regards  the  soul  in  its  original  constitution,  but  vary- 
in  o-  according  to  the  physical  peculiarities,  the  national 
characteristics,  and  difterent  idiosyncrasies  of  individuals. 

Second,  psychology.  This  elevates  us  into  the  region  of 
sensation  or  feeling,  which  in  its  lower  form  is  sensation,  in 
se,  and  in  its  higher  or  completed,  is  self-feeling,  which  is 
the  preliminary  step  to  consciousness.     Out  of  the  depth 


444 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


of  sensation  and  consciousness  emerges  the  ego,  the  living 
point  or  organism  in  which  are  preserved  all  these  sensa- 
tions, representations,  thoughts  and  cognitions.     Mind  was 
previously  interwoven  with  nature,  but  the  awaking  of  the 
ego  is  the  act  by  which  the  objective  world  is  created.     At 
the  same  time  the   subjective  world,  the   conscious  ego, 
springs  into  existence  as  contradistinguished  from  it ;  for 
the  ego,  over  against  the  objective  world  is  consciousness. 
This  becomes  self-consciousness  by  passing   through  the 
successive  stages  of  immediate  sensuous  consciousness,  per- 
ception,  and   understanding.     But   the   Hegelian   system 
claims   that   self  consciousness  becomes   universal,  or  ra- 
tional self-consciousness,  through  the  conflicts  of  the  ego 
with  the  objective  world,  and  with  other  self-consciousnesses 
by  means  of  which  is  found  the  proper  mean   between 
command  and  obedience.    This  latter  has  emancipated  itself 

from  nature,  and  is  free. 

Third.  Will,  which  is  theoretical  in  having  to  do  with 
the  rational  as  something  given ;  and  practical,  as  express- 
ing  the  highest  attainments  of  the  ego  in  subjectivity.  ^  It 
is  the  ultimate  end  of  the  theoretical ;  aa  the  theoretical 
mind  in  its  way  to  the  practical,  passes  successively  through 
the  stages  of  intuition,  representation,  and  thought,  and 
ultimately  forms  itself  into  a  free  will  through  impulse, 
desire,  and  inclination. 

2.  The  objective  mind.  This  introduces  us  to  the  whole 
range  of  moral  and  political  philosophy,  or  mind  in  its  rela- 
tions to  those  without.  The  immediate  objective  being  of 
the  free  will  is  the  right.  As  the  right  of  one  is  limited  by 
that  of  others  there  arises  a  conflict  between  will  and  will, 
and  this  results  in  a  compact,  which  is  the  embodiment  of  a 
common  will.  This  is  the  first  step  towards  the  formation 
of  the  state,  but  not  the  only  one,  as  the  state  does  not 
rest  wholly  upon  compact,  the  will  of  the  individual  being 
wholly  inadequate  to  decide  as  to  whether  he  will  or  will 
not  live  in  it.  Compact  refers  to  private  property,  and  is 
the  origin  of  right.     It  is  the  conflict  between  the  indi- 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


445 


vidual  will  and  the  right  or  the  universal  will  that  gives 
rise  to  the  first  division  of  mind  viewed  objectively,  viz: 

a.  Jurisprudence,  which  dispenses  law  and  guards  the 
rights  of  person  and  property.     l!^ext  we  have  : 

b.  Morality,  which  is  found  in  the  self-determination  of 
a  free  will  as  modified  or  influenced  by  the  conscience. 
This  latter  has  three  elements:  1.  That  of  resolution,  the 
inner  determination  of  the  acting  subject.  2.  That  of  pur- 
pose, the  completed  act  being  regarded  not  according  to 
its  consequences,  but  according  to  its  relative  worth  in 
reference  to  the  acting  subject.  3.  That  of  the  good,  by 
which  the  act  is  judged  according  to  its  universal  worth. 
Then  follows  the  last  triad  of  mind  viewed  objectively,  viz  : 

c.  Politics.  This  regards  the  state,  which  in  its  analysis 
referg  back  to  the  family,  and  that  again  has  its  foundation 
in  marriage.  Of  this  there  are  three  elements,  that  unite 
in  composing  it,  viz:  1.  The  sexual  relation,  founded 
upon  a  difference  in  sex.  2.  The  civil  contract  entered 
into  between  the  parties.  3.  The  love  that  either  oricrin- 
ally  did,  or  should  come  to  exist  between  them. 

Next  to  the  family,  Hegel  ranks  civil  society  in  which  the 
members,  though  still  independent  individuals,  are  never- 
theless bound  together  by  three  bonds:  1.  By  their  wants. 
2.  By  the  constitution  of  rights  as  a  means  of  security  for 
person  and  property.  3.  By  an  outward  administrative 
arrangement. 

Lastly,  in  Hegel's  system  comes  the  state,  the  ethical 
whole,  in  the  will  of  which  is  merged  the  individual  and 
the  right  of  individuality.^  "  States"  say  he,  "  and  the 
minds  of  individual  races  pour  their  currents  into  the  stream 
of  tlie  world's  history.  The  strife,  the  victory,  and  the 
subjection  of  the  spirits  of  individual  races,  and  the  passing 
over  of  the  world-spirit  from  one  people  to  another,  is  the 
content  of  the  world's  history.  The  development  of  the 
world's  history  is  generally  connected  with   some  rulino- 


'Schwcgle.m'^. 


446 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


447 


I 


race,  whicli  carries  in  itself  the  world-spirit  in  its  present 
stage  of  development,  and  in  distinction  from  whicli  the 
spirits  of  Other  races  have  no  rights.  Thus  these  race- 
spirits  stand  around  the  throne  of  the  absolute  spirit,  as  the 
executors  of  its  actualization,  as  the  witnesses  and  adorn- 
ment of  its  glory." 

3.  The  third  and  last  general  division  in  Hegel's  philo- 
sophy of  mind  is  absolute  mind.  In  this  we  no  longer 
view  it  as  the  property  of  the  individual,  but  as  belonging 
to  the  race ;  and  its  development  is  to  be  looked  for  not  in 
the  life  of  a  single  man  but  in  the  history  of  the  world. 
In  this  we  have  : 

1.  Esthetics,  art  developments,  in  which  the  beautiful  is 
the  appearance  of  the  idea  through  a  sensible  medium,  as 
a  crystal,  color,  tone,  poetry,  in  and  through  which  it  be- 
comes actualized  in  the  form  of  a  limited  phenomenon.  It 
is  to  the  different  ways  in  which  matter  and  form  are  con- 
nected that  we  are  indebted  for  the  diiferent  forms  of  art. 
Of  these  there  are  three  kinds:  1.  The  symbolic  form  of 
art  is  that  in  which  the  matter  preponderates,  the  thought 
passing  through  and  bringing  out  the  ideal  only  with  much 
difficulty.  2.  The  classic  form  of  art,  in  which  the  ideal 
has  attained  its  adequate  existence  in  matter  in  which  con- 
tent and  form  are  found  absolutely  befitting  each  other. 
3.  The  romantic  art,  in  which  mind  predominates ;  where 
the  matter  is  the  mere  appearance  and  sign  through  which 
the  mind  everywhere  breaks  out,  and  struggles  up  above 
the  material  A  sample  of  the  symbolic  form  is  architec- 
ture, in  which  the  sensible  matter  preponderates,  and  the 
object  of  the  art  is  to  seek  the  true  conformity  between 
content  and  form.  A  sample  of  the  classic  is  sculpture, 
which  gives  to  stone  a  bodily  form,  makes  it  represent  the 
body,  and  compels  it  in  the  end  wholly  to  disappear  in  the 
ideal,  nothing  being  left  of  the  material  which  does  not 
serve  the  idea.  A  sample  of  the  romantic  art  is  painting, 
which  represents  the  look,  the  disposition,  the  heart,  all,  in 
fine,  that  goes  to  constitute  the  life  of  the  soul. 


L 


lie  enumerates  two  other  forms  of  art,  viz  : 
a.  Music,  whose  material  is  sound,  the  vibration  of  a  sono- 
rous body.     It  leaves  the  field  of  sensuous  intuition,  and 
works  in  the  sensitive  soul. 

h.  Poetry,  the  unloosed  tongue  of  art,  the  speaking  art, 
which  can  represent  everything.  All  other  arts  return,  and 
find  their  embodiment  in  poetry.  1.  As  epic,  it  represents 
the  figurative  history  of  races,  and  thus  corresponds  to  the 
plastic  arts.  2.  As  lyric,  it  expresses  some  inner  condition 
of  the  soul,  corresponding  to  music.  3.  As  dramatic,  it  ex- 
hibits the  struggles  between  characters  acting  out  of  oppo- 
site interests,  and  thus  marks  the  point  of  union  between 
both  these  arts. 

2.  Next  to  aesthetics  follows  religion,  to  which  poetry 
forms  the  transition.  The  object  of  every  religion  is  to 
reconcile  the  finite  with  the  infinite,  the  subject  with  God. 
All  seek  a  union  between  the  divine  and  the  human.  Here, 
again,  there  are  three  steps  or  stages;  1.  The  pagan  reli- 
gions of  the  old  world,  in  which  God  was  only  a  power  of 
nature.  2.  Judaism,  in  which  God  emerges  from  nature, 
and  attains  to  an  exalted  subjectivity  full  of  power  and 
wisdom.  3.  Christianity,  in  which  a  reconciliation  between 
God  and  the  world  is  efiTected  by  means  of  the  unity  of  the 
divine  and  human  in  the  person  of  Christ. 

3.  In  the  third  place,  we  have  the  absolute  philosophy, 
which  consists  in  thought  knowing  itself  as  all  truth,  and 
reproducing  the  whole  natural  and  intellectual  universe 
from  itself,  having  the  entire  system  of  philosophy  for  its 
development  "  a  closed  circle  of  circles."  In  the  age  of 
philosophy,  religion  rises  to  its  purest  reflective  form,  and 
truth  comes  forth  from  her  symbols  to  appear  in  her  naked 
reality. 

Let  us  now  see  how  the  philosophy  of  mind  is  cast  in 
triads.     We  have : 

1.  Subjective  mind. 

2.  Objective  mind. 

3.  Absolute  mii\d. 


448 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


1.  Mind  viewed  subjectively  presents  US  with  :  a.  Anthro- 
pology,    b.  Psychology,     c.  Will. 

2.  Mind  viewed  objectivelypresents  us  with:  a.  Jurispru- 
dence, h.  Morals.  (Elements:  1.  Resolution.  2.  Purpose. 
3.  Good),  c.  Politics.  (Gradations.  1.  The  family  based 
on  the  marriage  triad,  a.  Sexual  relation,  b.  Civil  con- 
tract, c.  Love.  2.  The  civil  society  with  its  triune  bond. 
a.  Wants.  6.  Securities.  <?.  Outward  administrations, 
d.  The  state). 

3.  The  absolute  mind  presents  us  with:  a.  Esthetics,  with 
its  three  forms  of  art,  and  three  illustrations,  viz  :  1.  Sym- 
bolic form  :  illustration — architecture.  2.  Classic  form: 
illustration  —  sculpture.  3.  Romantic  form:  illustration  — 
painting.  6.  Religion  exhibited  in  three  stages.  1.  Pagan. 
2.  Judaism.     3.  Christianity,     c.  Absolute  philosophy. 


The  Hegelian  system  is  not  perfectly  clear  of  comprehen- 
sion. It  turns  upon  two  fundamental  points.  First,  the 
unity  of  contradictories,  or  opposites,  as  the  principle  of  all 
human  knowledge ;  and,  second,  the  identity  of  being  and 
thought. 

The  philosophy  of  Kant  contained  two  elements :  the 
idealistic  and  the  realistic.  We  have  now  traced  the 
idealistic  to  its  culminating  point.  Its  highest  subjective 
movement  was  realized  in  Fichte,  its  objective  in  Schelling. 
In  the  former  the  absolute  is  to  every  one  his  own  indivi- 
dual self,  beyond  whose  powers  and  perceptions  we  are 
unable  to  go.  In  the  latter,  the  absolute  is  made  the  living 
soul  of  the  universe,  of  which  everything  both  in  the 
natural  and  mental  world,  is  only  an  expansion.  In  Hegel 
the  absolute  becomes  a  mere  process,  ever  unfolding  and 
renewing  itself  in  the  world,  and  that  in  a  manner  identical 
with  the  process  of  thought,  with  the  method  of  philosophy. 
Idealism  had  thus  reached  here  its  highest  point  because 
the  matter  of  our  knowledge  had  here  become  synonomous 
with  its  form,  and  thought  all  one  with  existence.  The 
ideal  and  the  real  thus  being  one,  thought  and  existence 


EUROPE— ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


449 


r 


identical,  the  process  by  which  the  former  is  developed 
must  be  the  process  of  the  whole  of  nature;  while  the  laws 
of  logic  must  be  the  laws  of  the  universe  ;  and  the  dialectic 
movement  the  method  by  which  all  things  come  into  being 
and  subsist.     This  deity  is  reduced  simply  to  a  process 
which  is  ever  going  on  but  is   never  accomplished,  the 
divine  consciousness  being  absolutely  one  and  identical 
with  the  advancing  consciousness  of  mankind.     The  hope 
of  immortality  dies  out  from  his  stupendous  system,  which 
at  death  returns  the  individual  to  the  bosom  of  the  infinite, 
thus  annihilating  the  individual  man,  but  investing  the 
deity  with  an  eternity  of  progress.     Human  freedom  pales 
and  vanishes  under  the  shadow  of  his  system.     The  man 
is  but  the  mirror  of  the  absolute.     His  consciousness  must 
ever  roll  onward  by  the  fixed  law  of  all  being.      His  per- 
sonality is  sunk  in  the  infinite.    The  annihilation  of  freedom 
destroys  moral  obligation,  and  the  law  of  progress  being 
fixed,  man  becomes  irresponsible.     Thus  the  philosophy 
of  Hegel  has  aided  much  in  building  up  the  lofty  structure 
of  German  rationalism. 

Mysticism — Jacohi,     Realism  —  Herbart. 

Speculative  philosophy  in  its  idealistic  phase  reached  its 
extremest  limit  in  the  system  of  Hegel.  That  system  was 
.  a  regular  outgrowth  from  those  of  Schelling,  Fichte,  and 
Kant.  Although  the  German  mind,  in  its  speculative  ten- 
dencies, has  strongly  followed  this  line  of  development 
yet  there  have  not  been  wanting  sturdy  efibrts  to  escape 
from  it.  Two  shelters  from  it  have  been  sought  out :  the 
one  in  mysticism,  the  other  in  realism.  The  first  is  repre- 
sented by  Jacobi,  the  second  by  Herbart. 

Frederick  Heinrich  Jacobi,  was  born  at  Dusseldorf  in 
1743.  He  agreed  with  Kant  as  to  the  office  of  the  understand- 
ing, that  all  it  could  do  was  to  give  form  and  arrangement 
to  that  material  which  is  drawn  from  other  sources.     The 

VI]  57 


450 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


understanding  he  held  to  be  that  faculty  in  man  which  ob- 
serves itself,  finding  the  representations,  sensations  and 
feelings  always  ready  made.  The  process  by  which  things, 
from  without  become  sensations  in  us  and  thus  are  enabled 
to  enter  the  soul  through  the  senses,  he  deemed  an  inpene- 
trable  mystery.  That  there  was  a  reciprocal  action  be- 
tween things  objective  and  the  subjective  faculties  that 
take  cognizance  of  them  is  apparent,  but  how  the  one 
could  produce  an  impression  upon  the  other,  each  differ- 
ing so  entirely  from  the  other,  is  a  mystery  and  a  miracle, 
Kant  had  admitted  a  mutual  action  between  the  senses 
and  their  objects,  but  he  held  that  our  feelings  resulting 
from  this  action  were  so  thoroughly  mixed  up  with  an 
ingredient  furnished  by  our  understanding,  termed  by  him 
imagination,  that  the  sense-perceptions  might  be  regarded 
as  subjective  products,  which  no  longer  corresponded  to 
the  object.  Jacobi  took  the  directly  opposite  of  this  posi- 
tion. He  maintained  that  the  images  or  the  whole  multi- 
plicity of  representations  in  us  are  really  and  actually 
existing. 

Jacobi  also  difiered  from  Kant  as  to  the  reason,  which 
Kant  held  to  be  a  logical  faculty.  He  held  it  to  be  that 
sense  or  faculty  by  which  we  have  immediate  perception  of 
that  which,  in  the  super-sensual  sphere  of  mind  or  intelli- 
gence, has  existence  for  us.  He  maintained  that  we  could 
neither  explain  the  mode  of  acquiring  our  sensuous  im- 
pressions, nor  of  those  ideas  which  we  find  actually  in  us. 
But  yet  their  existence  is  undeniable,  and  requires  no 
further  demonstration.  Jacobi  here  reached,  and,  in  his 
mode,  remedied  the  fundamental  error  of  Kant,  which  con- 
sisted in  grounding  that  which  is  immediately  certain, 
which  should  itself  serve  as  the  basis  of  everything  else, 
upon  something  else  which  was  still  deeper. 

The  great  merit  of  Jacobi  consists  in  his  presenting  act- 
uality as  the  true  test  and  foundation  by  and  upon  which 
all  knowledge  may  be  recognized.  He  said  to  philoso- 
phers practically,  "  whatever  you  are  to  acknowledge  as 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


451 


valid  must  be  deduced  from  higher  grounds.^  You  require 
that  everything  be  demonstrated.  But  what  are  you  to  do 
with  the  highest  principle,  with  the  last  and  final  truth  ? 
There  you  cannot  proceed  any  further,  and  have  after  all 
to  stop  short  at  mere  actuality  of  existence." 

Jacobi  demonstrated  that  the  logical  and  synthetic  method 
could  not  be  applied  to  metaphysics,  and  he  did  not  agree 
with  Kant  that  the  presentiments  of  the  high  and  the 
divine,  which  are  in  us,  are  nothing  more  than  the  secret 
pressure  of  those  logical  fetters  which  are  experienced  in 
drawing  conclusions.      He  regarded  them  rather  as  the 
peculiar  treasure,  and  the  hidden  riches  of  the  human 
spirit.     What  he  at  first  simply  termed  faith,  and  after- 
wards feeling  and  inward  revelation,  he  ultimately  desig- 
nated the  name  of  reason.     He  did  not  design  to  develop 
any  system.     In  fact  he  regarded  all  systems  with  doubt 
and  suspicion,  fearing  that  the  more  there  was  of  unity,  and 
of  keeping  to  rules,  the  greater  tendency  there  must  be  to 
materialism,  idealism,  naturalism  or  fatalism.     He  held  it 
impossible  to  comprehend  the  unconditioned,  because  the 
assumption  of  such  knowledge  does  not  disclose  the  con- 
nection between  the  unconditioned  and  the  conditioned, 
although  It  necessarily  refers  the  latter  to  the  former.     Yet 
we  can  discover  no  necessary  transition  from  the  one  to 
the  other.     The  general  cannot  immediately  descend  into 
the  particular,  nor  unity  into  variety ;  and  God  cannot  be  ap- 
prehended as  merely  a  formal  summing  up,  a  comprehend- 
ing and  containing  of  those  objects  in  nature  which  are 
separated  from  one  another.^    He  maintained  that  a  God 
who  could  be  proved  was  no  God,  for  the  ground  of  proof  is 
ever  above  that  which  is  to  be  proved,  the  latter  having  its 
whole  reality  from  the  former.     In  proving  the  existence 
of  God,  therefore,  he  would  be  derived  from  a  ground 
which  was  both  before  and  above  him.     Hence  the  paradox 
of  Jacobi :  3  "It  is  for  the  interest  of  science  that  there  be 


'  Ghalyhaus,  85.    '^ Idem,  87.    » Schwegle,  373. 


452 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


453 


no  God,  no  supernatural,  and  no  extra  or  supermundane 
being.  Only  upon  the  condition  that  nature  alone  is,  and 
is,  therefore,  independent  and  all  in  all,  can  science  hope  to 
gain  its  goal  of  perfection,  and  become,  like  its  object 
itself,  all  in  all." 

The  faith  within  which  Jacobi  took  refuge  was  intended 
to  be  a  rational  one,  not  one  of  authority  merely,  that  would 
be  satisfied  with  everything,  a  mere  passive  receiving  and 
accepting,  but  one  invested  with  powers  of  criticism,  and 
possessing  the  right  of  choosing  or  refusing.  The  flight 
from  cognition  through  conception  to  faith,  he  calls  the 
salto  mortale  of  the  human  reason.  "Every  certainty 
through  a  conception  demands  another  certainty,  but  in 
faith  we  are  led  to  an  immediate  certainty  which  needs  no 
ground  nor  proof,  and  which  is,  in  fact,  absolutely  exclusive 
of  all  proof."  He  calls  faith  a  confidence  which  does  not 
arise  from  arguments,  and  claims  that  we  know  through  it 
alone  the  sensible  equally  as  the  supersensible ;  and  that 
there  are  but  two  sources  of  all  human  knowledge,  viz : 
revelation  and  faith. 

In  opposition  to  Kant  he  defends  empiricism,  afiirming 
the  truthfulness  of  the  sense-perception,  and  denying  the 
k  priority  of  space  and  time.  The  philosophy  of  Jacobi 
was  that  of  faith  and  feeling.  The  latter  expresses  more 
accurately  that  which  he  had  in  view,  than  the  term  reason 
which  was  afterwards  employed.  In  feeling,  a  suhstantiul 
unity  is  presupposed  between  him  who  feels  and  that 
which  is  felt.  While  feeling,  according  to  him,  we 
have  that  which  is  real,  actual,  and  essential,  and  still 
in  connection  with  that  which  is  ideal.  Afterwards  in 
the  reflection  of  the  understanding,  this  element  of  re- 
ality vanishes  entirely,  and  nothing  remains  but  what  is 
ideal.  Hence  he  says:  "There  is  light  in  my  heart,  but 
it  goes  out  whenever  I  attempt  to  bring  it  into  the  under- 
standing, which  is  the  true  luminary  of  these  two  ?^  That  of 


Schwegle,  278. 


the  understanding,  which  though  it  reveals  fixed  forms, 
shows  behind  them  only  a  baseless  gulf?  Or  that  of  the 
heart,  which  points  its  light  promisingly  upwards,  though 
determinate  knowledge  escapes  it?  Can  the  human 
spirit  grasp  the  .truth  unless  it  possesses  these  two  lumina- 
naries  united  in  one  light  ?  And  is  this  union  conceivable 
except  through  a  miracle." 

Thus  Jacobi,  at  a  time  when  idealism  was  threatening 
to  absorb  everything  into  itself,  to  consign  to  nihility  the 
external  world ;  and  to  sweep  away  all  the  great  bound- 
aries of  human  knowledge ;  stood  forth  boldly  in  defense 
of  realism,  a  realism  which  reposed  wholly  upon  faith  in 
our  direct  intuition  of  truth,  whether  it  be  human  or  divine. 
He  demanded  that  the  human  soul  should  yield  up  some- 
thing more  than  a  dead  and  empty  mechanism  of  logical 
thinking  and  shadowy  representations.     He  claimed  that 
in  the  human  spirit  there  is  a  deep  and  inviolable  treasure. 
And  although  concealed  behind  the  veil  of  Isis,  he  could 
at  least  point  to  its  reality.     He  felt  and  believed  more 
than  he  reasoned,  and  hence  has  been  ranked  among  the 
mystics,  and  consigned  to  the  realm  of  mysticism. 

John  Frederick  Herbart  was  born  at  Oldenburgh  in  the 
year  1776.  He  was  professor  of  philosophy  successively  in 
the  university  of  Gottingen,  at  Koningsberg,  and  again  at 
Gottingen  where  he  died  in  1841. 

The  philosophy  of  Herbart  was  a  reaction  produced  by 
the  bold  idealism  inaugurated  by  Kant,  and  carried  to  its 
ultimate  legitimate  results  by  Fichte.  Kan  t  had  undermined 
the  foundations  of  all  sensuous  experience,  and  transformed 
it  from  reality  into  mere  appearance,  and  jet  had  frequently 
referred  to  the  matter  of  sensations  as  being  the  material 
of  knowledge.  Thus  he  had  furnished  starting  points  both 
to  the  idealistic  and  the  realistic,  the  former  of  which  was 
seized  hold  of  by  Fichte,  and  the  latter  by  Herbart.  He 
took  the  objective  stand  point,  and  urged  the  claims  of 
empiricism  upon  the  attention.     Ho  claimed  that  what  is 


454 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


actually  furnished  from  without  constitutes  the  necessary 
basis  for  all  philosophical  investigation.  That  we  can  only 
philosophize  on  that  which  is  furnished  to  us.  That  we  can 
only  rectify  by  reflection  our  representations,  notions  and 
ideas,  but  can  never  create  something  out  of  one  general 
and  empty  idea.^  Hence  he  would  define  philosophy  to  be 
nothing  else  than  "  a  scientific  elaborating  and  rectifying 
of  our  general  notions,  for  the  purpose  of  cognizing  that 
which  is  actually  furnished  to  us."  That  the  end  and  aim 
of  all  reflection  is  to  understand  and  attain  to  correct 
notions  of  nature  both  in  and  out  of  ourselves. 

In  order  to  this  we  are  to  accept  whatever  our  conscious- 
ness furnishes,  but  not  as  what  is  all  really  true  and  yet  as 
containing  the  elements  of  all  truth  and  mass  of  material  out 
of  which  the  one  connected  whole  of  truth  is  to  be  formed. 

Although  things  may  be  diflerent  from  what  they  appear, 
yet  there  must  be  some  ground  upon  which  the  appearance 
proceeds,  and  we  must  look  to  what  actually  is  not  only 
for  a  starting  point,  but  also  as  the  only  means  by  which 
to  verify  and  rectify  the  results  at  which  we  have  arrived. 

Our  ordinary  notions  of  objects  and  their  mutual  con- 
nection involve  us  in  contradictions.  It  is  obvious  that 
what  are  termed  the  secondary  qualities  of  objects  belong 
to  ourselves  and  form  no  part  of  the  objects.  This  is  the 
entrance  wedge  of  skepticism,  and  from  thence  it  proceeds 
to  doubt  and  question  the  reality  of  all  qualities  we  are 
accustomed  to  regard  as  belonging  to  external  objects. 
Thus  it  goes  back  until  it  strikes  upon  the  idealistic 
foundation  of  Descartes'  cogito,  ergo  sum,  upon  which,  as 
an  abutment,  the  idealist  seeks  to  throw  a  bridge  across  into 
the  real  world.  Herbart  denies  that  this  is  practicable, 
and  hence  is  led  to  seek  in  objects  and  their  mutual  con- 
nections and  relations  the  evidence  of  their  existence. 

In  order  to  this  he  takes  a  distinction  between  simply 
to  be  and  that  which  is,  insisting  that  the  former  being  is 


^Chalyhaiis,  94,  95. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


455 


not  of  itself  an  entity  any  more  than  standing,  walking,  or 
running  is,  while  that  which  is,  or  existence,  implies  in  it- 
self a  something,  a  what,  that  does  exist.  This,  therefore, 
he  terms  a  real,  a  something  to  which  reality  belongs,  al- 
though it  is  inseparable  from  existence  itself. 

Inasmuch,  then,  as  the  real  must  have  some  application  to 
nature,  and  everything  must  necessarily  be  illusory,  and  as 
many  qualities  will  not  allow  of  absolute  position,  or  of  real- 
ity in  themselves,  it  becomes  important  to  inquire  what  the 
idea  of  absolute  position,  or  of  existence  implies.  And 
that  is: 

1.  That  it  contain  no  negation  or  limitation  which  would 
have  the  efiect  of  destroying  absoluteness.  A  thing  which 
exists  not  by  itself  but  only  as  it  leans  against  another 
object,  and  depends  upon  it,  can  have  no  existence  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  term. 

2.  That  things  affirmed  as  absolute  be  such  that,  in 
reference  to  its  quality,  it  can  be  conceived  as  entirely 
simple ;  that  is  neither  as  a  multiple  or  as  having  internal 
contradictions. 

3.  That  it  be  wholly  indeterminable  by  notions  of  magni- 
tude. That  that  which  is  in  and  by  itself  real  be  never  viewed 
as  a  quantum,  as  divisible,  and  as  occupying  definite  space 
and  time.  Space  and  time  are  denied  to  the  notion  of 
the  real  in  itself,  it  being  considered  in  reference  to  space 
much  the  same  as  a  mathematical  point.  The  notion  of 
the  real  does  not  exclude  the  idea  of  numerical  multipli- 
city, only  the  union  of  many  parts  and  qualities  in  one  atid 
the  same  real.  But  the  notion  of  absolute  reality  must 
never  be  confounded  with  that  which  is  existing,  or  the 
real  itself.  The  objects  themselves  constitute  the  latter, 
while  the  former  is  only  the  way  and  mode  of  conceiving 
them. 

Herbart  holds  that  the  import  of  a  notion  is  not  one  and 
the  same  with  the  intellectual  process  of  forming  it,  and 
that  while  we  possess  a  notion  of  the  real  and  the  existing, 
we  must  be  careful  not  to  confound  our  notion,  viz:  the 


456 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


457 


manner  iu  wMcli  the  object  that  is  viewed  takes  shape  in 
our  minds,  with  that  object  itself. 

The  question  here  occurs  as  to  whence  is  derived  the 
something  or  the  what  that  is  joined  to,  and  gives  reality 
to  existence?  It  is  immediately  furnished  in  sensation. 
It  is  that  which  is  actual,  and  without  which  it  would  be 
impossible  to  demonstrate  that  anything  actually  existed. 
That  only  exists,  and  really  exists,  which  is  not  merely 
appearance,  and  it  alone  can  be  furnished.  We  must  find 
the  idea  of  it  somewhere,  otherwise  everything  w^ould  be 
represented  as  nonentity. 

The  philosophical  system  of  Herbart  had  a  threefold  divi- 
sion :  1.  Logic.  2.  Metaphysics.  3.  Esthetics.  But 
these  are  neither  bound  together  by  any  common  princi- 
ple, nor  do  they  acknowledge  the  control  of  any  one  gene- 
ral fundamental  doctrine.  There  is  nothing  peculiar  in 
his  logic.     His  metaphysics  are  : 

1.  General,  occupying  the  place  of  what  was  formerly 

ontology. 

2.  Applied  metaphysics,  which  again  is  divisible  into  psy- 
chology, philosophy  of  nature,  and  philosophy  of  religion. 

The  metaphysics  of  Herbart  start  from  sensations  or  de- 
terminations which  are  empirically  furnished.  These  are 
first  elaborated  into  representations,  and  these  again  into 
general  or  collective  notions,  in  which  our  consciousness 
comprehends  together  that  which  is  common  to  diffbrent 
phenomena,  making  abstraction  of  that  which  is  peculiar 
to  each.  These  notions  can  only  be  considered  as  abbrevi- 
ations of  experience,  the  point  of  importance  being  that 
these  single  objects  do  really  exist,  and  have  really  been 
furnished  in  sensation. 

The  metaphysics  are  more  especially  conversant  with 
general  and  abstract  notions,  and  these  more  especially 
regard  the  following  three,  viz :  thing,  matter,  and  the  me. 
The  thing  appears  both  compound  and  variable.  It  is  the 
me  that  more  especially  opens  up  the  world  of  immediate 
inward  experience.     These  three  fundamental  ideas,  each 


giving  rise  to  a  separate  contradiction,  point  us  to  three 
branches  of  metaphysics,  viz  : 

1.  Ontology,  which  has  reference  to  the  thing  manifold 
in  itself,  and  changing. 

2.  Synechology,  which  has  reference  to  matter,  or  the 
appearance  of  the  real  in  time,  space  and  motion. 

3.  Eidolology,  having  reference  to  those  peculiar  phe- 
nomena which  are  revealed  through  our  consciousness,  or 
in  the  me. 

In  the  first,  or  ontology,  the  great  problem  to  be  solved 
is  to  show  how  difl:erent  predicates  can  coexist  in  one  sub- 
stance; and   conversely,   how  one   simple   substance   can 
exhibit  a  plurality  of  predicates.     This  problem  is  sought 
to  be  explained  through  the  medium  of  a  principle  termed 
by  Herbart  the  method  of  relations.     Agreeable  to  this 
principle  we  must  suppose  a  thing  to  be  composed  of  many 
essences,  all   independent  of  each   other,  instead  of  one 
absolutely  simple  one.     And  it  is  owing  to  the  different 
relations  in  which  they  stand  to  each  other,  that  the  appear- 
ance is  presented  of  many  predicates  existing  in  one  sub- 
ject.^    Thus,  as  an  illustration,  a  binary  star  appears  as  one 
to  the  naked  eye,  but  through  the  medium  of  the  telescope 
is  seen  to  consist  of  two.     And  so  an  object  in  nature  may 
appear  to  be  one,  but  by  means  of  philosophy  is  discovered 
to  be  manifold.     The  separate  and  independent  essences 
which  enter  into  and  serve  to  compose  all  things,  ever 
remain  absolutely  the  same,  because  they  are  entirely  self- 
sustained.     But  when  they  come  to  be  viewed  in  different 
lights,  and  from  difierent  stand  points  in  relation  to  each 
other,  then  they  exhibit  a  multitude  of  different  character- 
istics. 

To  account  for  this,  the  doctrine  of  accidental  views  is 
introduced.  By  this  is  meant  that  one  and  the  same  no- 
tion may,  without  any  alteration  of  its  essence,  be  often 


'  MoreU,  486. 
VI] 


58 


•■1 , 


458 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


459 


"4 


'} 


viewed  as  standing  in  very  different  relations  to  other  no- 
tions. Thus  one  and  the  same  line  may  often  be  viewed 
either  as  sine,  tangent,  or  radius  of  a  circle,  without  ever 
ceasing  to  be  a  straight  line,  and  the  same  identical  straight 
line.  A  tone  in  music  may  be  viewed  as  a  third,  a  fifth, 
a  seventh,  and  as  being  harmonious  or  discordant,  without 
having  ceased  to  be  one  and  the  same  tone.  It  is  not  es- 
sential, but  merely  accidental  to  that  higher  notion  of  a 
straight  line  that  it  stands  in  such  relations  as  to  be  either 
sine,  tangent,  or  radius. 

This  philosophy  views  each  separate  and  apparently  sim- 
ple thing  as  composed  of  an  aggregate  of  many  simple 
reals,  which  occurring  together  in  our  experience  we  are  led 
to  regard  as  one.  The  reals  that  play  so  conspicuous  a 
part  in  Herbart's  philosophy  bear  some  analogy  to  the 
atoms  of  the  atomatic  theory,  and  to  the  monads  of  Leib- 
nitz. They  differ  from  the  former,  however,  in  not  being 
impenetrable,  and  from  the  latter  in  having  in  themselves 
no  power  of  representation,  nor  any  peculiar  inner  circum- 
stances. They  have,  however,  been  termed  monads,  and 
the  doctrine  a  system  of  monadology. 

One  great  point  of  inquiry  in  Herbart's  philosophy  relates 
to  the  mutual  influence  of  one  real,  or  monad,  upon  another, 
the  relation  of  causality.  The  notion  of  a  real  is  that  it  is 
simple,  unchangeable,  and  without  extension  as  to  time  or 
space.  It  is  self-existent.  Their  appearance  in  certain 
continually  recurring  groups  demands  an  inquiry  into  their 
actual  connections.  How  can  one  real,  or  monad,  in  an 
assemblage  be  regarded  as  the  cause  of  their  being  joined 
together?  Unity  is  a  phenomenon  that  is  furnished,  and 
how  is  it  of  possible  attainment?  It  is  owing  to  the  fact 
that  one  of  the  many  reals  assembled  together  occupies  the 
place  of  a  central  point  of  union.  To  it  all  the  others 
point,  and  like  radii  of  the  total  appearance  are  joined  to- 
gether in  it,  as  in  a  central  point. 

Alteration  in  bodies  may  take  place  in  three  ways  :  1. 
From   external   causes.     2.  From   self-determination.     3. 


As  absolute  becoming.  The  first  is  here  the  only  subject 
of  inquiry. 

The  alterations  in  the  thing  which  the  given  appearance 
points  out  to  us,  are  produced  only  by  the  coming  together 
and  separating  of  the  monads,  more  briefly  by  their  coming 
and  going.  But  if  their  coming  together  produces  different 
phenomena,  owing  to  the  different  qualities  of  each,^  then 
every  single  monad  must  be  instrumental,  upon  every 
other,  in  causing  a  difference  of  appearance.  Thus  each 
monad  acts  upon  every  other,  and  the  internal  state  of  each 
must  be  determined  or  altered  by  that  coming  together. 
But  as  each  monad  is  in  its  nature  unchangeable,  such 
change  can  be  only  apparent,  not  actual.  To  account  for 
what  is  really  going  on  in  every  one  of  the  monads  during 
that  change,  recourse  is  had  to  the  accidental  views  before 
mentioned.  The  activity  in  all  changes  tends  to  self- 
preservation,  and  the  mode  of  this  latter  will  vary  according 
to  the  relation  in  which  its  own  peculiar  quality  stands  to 
that  of  another  monad.  Thus  the  antagonistic  states  of 
the  monad,  while  in  combination  with  each  other,  may  be 
regarded  as  so  many  active  and  efiicient  forces,  all  whose 
tendencies  meet,  on  the  other  hand,  with  a  corresponding 
resistance,  and  this  is  assumed  as  sufiicient  ground  for  all 
actual  phenomena. 

The  second  part  of  metaphysics  is:  2.  Synechology, 
which  seeks  to  resolve  the  problem  of  corporeal  matter. 
The  great  problem  here  presenting  itself  for  solution  is  — 
how  monads,  which  themselves  fill  no  space,  and  have  no 
extension,  can,  when  compounded,  constitute  an  essence 
apparently  extended,  such  as  matter.  Kant  had  declared 
that  time  and  space  were  only  the  subjective  forms  of  in- 
tuition, but  Herbart  denies  this  and  insists  that,  constrained 
by  our  very  thinking,  we  feel  obliged  to  ascribe  to  them 
objective  truth ;  tliat  they  continue  to  assert  their  right  to 
be  considered  as  actual  on  speculative  grounds,  just  because 


*  Chalyhaus^  127. 


460 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


461 


these  categories  manifest  themselves  as  relations  which 
require  to  he  thought.  If  we  conceive  a  single  monad  hy 
itself  we  cannot  determine  any  locality  in  which  it  exists. 
It  only  attains  locality  when  we  conceive  a  second  point 
between  which  and  itself  there  is  to  be  a  certain  definite 
distance.  The  representations  of  standing  still  and  of 
movement  cannot  be  observed  on  one  single  point,  nor 
conceived  of  in  the  case  of  one  single  point.  Both  can  only 
be  ascribed  to  the  relation  in  which  many  real  things  are 
conceived  to  stand  towards  one  anotlier.  Our  idea  of 
motion  arises  out  of  the  conception  of  a  net  work  of 
relations,  no  absolutely  fixed  or  moveable  stand  point  of 
connection  being  found,  the  whole  representation  only 
indicating  a  relative  relationship,  and  that  one  relating  to 
the  observer.  Space  and  time,  or  measure  of  celerity,  are 
nothing  more  than  the  elements  of  which  motion  is  com- 
pounded, and  hence  are  objective,  and  released  from  the 

categories  of  Kant. 

The  external  grouping  of  things,  according  to  Ilerbart, 
is  derivable  from  the  internal  activity  of  the  essences,  the 
internal  principle  of  which  is  that  of  self-preservation. 

The  fundamental  principle  of  Herbart's  philosophy  is  the 
simplicity  and  absolute  immutability  of  the  real  or  the 
monad.  But  the  actual  state  of  things  cannot  be  satisfac- 
torily accounted  for  without  also  assigning  to  it  a  kind  of 
internal  capacity  of  formation,  although  this  would  not  be 
entirely  consistent  with  the  principles  upon  which  Herbart's 
philosophy  proceeds. 

The  third  part  of  metaphysics  is :  3.  Eidolology,  the  me, 
the  doctrine  of  the  human  soul.  The  me  is  our  person, 
and  implies  everything  belonging  immediately  to  our  body 
and  to  our  spirit.  It  is  not,  however,  the  personal,  but  the 
pure  and  absolute  me,  which  is  only  arrived  at  after  every- 
thing which  is  only  state  of  the  soul  has  been  thrown  aside. 
It  is  found  only  in  the  inmost  depth  of  selt-conseiousness. 
It  is  found  in  the  sensations,  representations,  aspirations, 
all  the  activities  of  inner  life.     It  is  the  central,  connecting 


point  of  all  thinking  and  doing.  Its  ofiSce  consists  not 
only  in  representing  to  itself  the  outer  world,  but  also  the 
inner,  or  its  own  self. 

The  first  question  presented  is  :  Is  the  me  merely  self- 
consciousness,  or  is  it  an  essence?  Knowledge,  although 
a  mere  state  or  activity,  yet  cannot  be  conceived  without 
some  being  in  that  state,  or  author  of  that  activity.  The 
7ne  must  in  itself  be  something  real. 

But  the  7716  has  many  properties,  states,  powers,  facul- 
ties. It  is,  therefore,  a  real,  or  monad,  with  many  varying 
characteristics.  It  knows  about  itself,  and  hence  is  the 
subject  to  which  its  own  portrait  is  presented  as  an  object. 
The  image,  however,  is  the  same  as  the  subject,  and  Fichte 
designated  the  jne  as  the  absolute  subject-object,  or  as  the 
identity  of  subject  and  object.  Ilerbart,  however,  denies 
that  the  eye  can  see  itself,  or  that  it  will  ever  be  possible 
to  pronounce  subject  and  object  the  same  without  involv- 
ing a  contradiction. 

The  me  is  given  or  furnished  just  as  it  exists,  and  is  mul- 
tiplied, beholding  itself  in  many  different  states,  as  that  of 
feeling,  thinking,  willing,  all  representations  of  ourselves, 
and  designated  as  our  me.  Thus  the  object  has  to  be 
multiplied,  and  something  is  to  be  true  in  the  combination 
of  these  wie-objects  which  cannot  be  of  any  one  singly.  And 
when  a  number  of  objects  are  represented,  something  about 
them  must  appertain  to  him  who  represents  them,  and  that 
is  their  comprehension  into  one  representation,  and  the  re- 
sults to  which  this  gives  rise.  Something  has  to  be  noticed 
with  reference  to  the  various  objects  which  would  not  apply 
to  any  one  of  them  taken  singly,  and  the  representation  of 
ourselves  is  in  some  degree  made  dependent  on  the  repre- 
sentation of  objects,  referring  to,  but  not  coinciding  with 
them. 

But  all  the  possible  states  cannot  exhaust  the  me,  as  it 
must  possess  tlie  capacity  of  opposing  and  distinguishing 
itself  from  all  these  different  states.  It  remains  as  the  ever 
identical  to  itself  in  all  these  states.     We  live  first  in  the 


'A\ 


,  .■♦■I 


i' 


462 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


463 


objective,  and  are  wholly  taken  up  by  it,  and  through  it 
attain  gradually  to  self-consciousness ;  and  then  from  it  and 
through  the  individual  states  we  reach  ourselves,  and  then 
may  contrast  the  essence  of  the  me  with  all  those  states  and 
determinations. 

Again,  in  the  representing  of  the  objective  by  or  to  self- 
consciousness  there  must  be  a  mutual  conditioning  of  one 
.  another.  One  sensation  must  modify  or  exclude  another. 
It  is  this  conditioning,  contradicting,  impeding  or  disturb- 
ing that  brings  motion  into  the  soul.  This  peculiar  mode 
of  eliciting  self-consciousness  from  the  mutual  conditioning 
of  the  objective  dispenses  with  different  powers  and  facul- 
ties in  the  soul,  as  of  feeling,  memory,  representation,  etc. 
The  conditioning  of  one  thing  by  another  does  not  here 
occur  as  between  real  essences,  but  as  between  representa- 
tions merely,  which  depend  for  their  existence  only  on  the 
self-preservation  of  the  soul. 

The  individual  representations  are  powers  which  resist 
but   do   not   destroy   each   other.     While   resisting  they 
remain  unchanged.     The  only  alteration  is  in  the  degree 
of  intensity  on  which  their  vividness,  distinctness  or  obscu- 
rity depend.     Everything  depends  on  the  sum  and  the  pro- 
portion of  the  resistance.     The  former  is  the  burden  to  be 
distributed  arising  from  the  antagonisms  of  the  representa- 
tion.    One  representation  is  always  more  especially  present, 
and  that  one  is  generally  engaged  in  a  struggle  witli  another. 
One  by  gaining  a  prominence  over  the  rest,  weakens  or 
impedes  the  others ;  although  one  cannot  wholly  suppress 
the  other,  where  there  are  but  two.     The  very  ground  of 
the  struggle  is  inconsistent  with  the  entire   suppression. 
In  a  struggle  between  three  one  may  be  entirely  pushed 
aside.     But  those  thus  suppressed  do  not  wholly  disappear. 
They  wait  on  the  threshold  of  consciousness,  for  the  favor- 
able moment  when  they  can  reappear.     These  representa- 
tions while  thus  kept  back  and  operating  only  in  the  dark, 
are  the  feelings,  which  are  to  be  distinguished  from  sensa- 
tions.    As  their  tendency  to  push  forward  is  attended  with 


I 


I    * 


more  or  less  success,  they  become  desires,  and  these, 
inspired  with  the  hope  of  success,  mature  into  volitions. 
There  is  no  special  faculty  of  the  will,  but  only  individual, 
determined  motions  within  the  province  of  the  self-preserv- 
ations of  the  soul.  The  soul-monad,  with  reference  to 
its  self-preservation,  is  capable  of  containing  within  itself 
such  states  as  may,  under  favorable  circumstances,  become, 
with  other  monads,  the  cause  of  definite  external  forma- 
tion and  movement,  and  this  furnishes  a  principle  of  assimi- 
lation and  organization,  upon  which  living  phenomena  are 
susceptible  of  explanation. 

In  regard  to  the  seat  of  the  soul,  Herbart  assigns  no  one 
permanent  seat,  but  supposes  the  whole  middle  region,  the 
sensorium  commune,  may  furnish  its  place  of  residence. 
He  supposed  the  soul  might  move  forwards  or  backwards 
upon  or  within  the  pons  varolii. 

The  philosophy  of  Ilerbart  was  a  protest  against  the  all- 
absorbing  idealism  of  Fichte,  an  idealism  that  started  from 
the  single  factor  subjective  and  ultimately  derived  every- 
thing from  itself.  In  opposition  to  this  he  claimed,  and 
correctly,  that  it  is  impossible  to  account  for  a  multiplicity 
of  phenomena  on  the  supposition  of  one  abstract  factor. 
One  of  the  objections  urged  against  his  system  is  that  the 
objective  truth  of  a  substantial  and  unitous  connection  is 
entirely  wanting,  while  we  have  it  in  ourselves  subjectively, 
but  only  subjectively.  Again,  that  we  have  no  one  single 
principle  as  a  starting  point,  but  are  directed  to  an  infinite 
multiplicity  of  commencements ;  and  that  unity  which  is  the 
ultimate  aim  of  all  science,  is  only  found  in  the  last  in- 
stance, in  the  result.  The  whole  system  is  opposed  to  a 
genetical  one,  of  which  a  pure  idealism  is  an  instance. 
The  unity  is  only  subjective,  and  not  objective,  as  it  applies 
to  knowledge  and  not  to  existence. 

We  can  linger  no  longer  with  the  German  school  of 
philosophy.  We  have  seen  the  necessitj^  in  which  it  origin- 
ated.    We  have  traced  it  from  Kant,  who  in  endeavoring 


464 


MISTOliY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


465 


to   plant  himself  upon  both  the  subjective   aud  objective 
stand  points,  gave  a  decided  preponderance  to  the  former. 
This  was  taken  up  by  Fichte  at  the  point  where  Kant  had 
left  it,  and  carried  out  with  an  unflinching  logic  into  all  its 
startling  results  and  conclusions.     Tlien  legitimately  fol- 
lows the  pantheism  of  Schelling  and  Hegel.     In  the  mean 
time  to  escape  from  the  merciless  idealism  of  Fichte,  philo- 
sophy took  refuge  in  the  mysticism  of  Jacobi,  and  the  realism 
of  Herbart.     We  have  presented  the  great  names,  and  the 
most  important   speculative   problems   wliieh   they   have 
proposed  and  endeavored  to  solve.     It  must  certainly  be 
conceded  that  the  rationalistic   philosophy,  as   developed 
from  the  subjective  stand  point,  into  a  pure  and  unmiti- 
gated idealism,  has  been  more   perfectly  unfolded,  more 
clearly  displayed;   and  pushed   into   all  its   results,  in  a 
manner  far  more  satisfactory  than  had  ever  before  been 
accomplished.     So  also  the  splendid  pantheisms  of  Schel- 
ling and  Hegel  had  left  little  to  be  desired  by  those  who 
are  willing  to  dispense  with  a  superintending  providence  in 
the  government  of  the  universe.     From  the  fact  that  the 
German  mode  of  thinking  is  somewhat  peculiar;  that  it  is 
first  given  to  the  world  in  the  German  language,  and  is 
known  to  Englishmen  and  Americans,  only  through  the 
reading  of  the  German  and  by  tniiislations,  it  results  that 
there  is  much  difficulty  in  the  finding  of  such  terms  as  will 
convey  the  ideas  with  precision,  and  yet  be  fully  under- 
stood by  the  Anglo-Saxon  mind.     With  far  more  preten- 
sions than  the  Scottish  philosophy,  it  claims  to  satisfy  deeper 
wants,  and  to  solve  profounder  problems ;  but  no  one  can 
arise  from   its   attentive   study  withoiit^  feeling   that  the 
human  mind  can  ask  more  questions  than  it  can  answer, 
and   propose  more  problems   than   satisfactory  solutions. 
We  seem  conscious  that  we  have  been  gazing   upon  an 
edifice  of  stupendous  proportions,  and  yet  its  outlines  reach 
80  far  into  the  land  of  shadows  that  we  are  unabled  to 
grasp  its  dimensions,  or  even  to  feel  that  we  have  formed 
with  it  a  very  intimate  acquaintance.     It  does,  however, 


jt 


add  some  necessary  links  to  that  ever  lengthening  chain, 
which  the  human  mind  is  dragging  onward,  ever  nearing 
and  yet  never  reaching  the  point,  at  which  it  can  fully  pro- 
claim its  own  self-comprehension,  and  along  with  it  all 
those  matters  and  things  which  are  to  it  objects  of  know- 
ledge. 

Eclectic  Philosophy  —  Cousin. 

We  have  seen  that  the  critical  philosophy  was  a  rebound 
from  the  skepticism  of  Hume.  So  also  was  the  eclectic 
PHILOSOPHY  a  rebound,  a  protest,  a  refuge  from  the  sensual- 
ism, materialism,  and  idealogy  of  Condillac,  Cabanis,  De 
Tracey  and  other  French  writers.  The  materialistic  school 
that  had  merged  all  in  sensation,  aud  derived  from  the 
organism  of  the  brain  and  nervous  system  everything, 
whether  of  thought  or  of  feeling  that  belongs  to  man,  had 
run  its  course,  and  having  developed  all  there  was  in  it, 
had,  in  a  manner,  ceased  to  be  attractive.  There  must, 
therefore,  be  a  change.  A  new  philosophy  was  demanded 
by  the  intellect  of  France.  M.  Laromiguiere  born  in  1756, 
the  pupil  of  Condillac,  was  the  point  of  divergence.  Con- 
dillac had  based  the  sensualistic  system  upon  the  great 
fundamental  faculty  of  sensation,  where,  upon  that  system, 
it  can  alone  belong.  M.  Laromiguiere  substitutes  in  its 
place  that  of  attention,  thus,  by  a  single  word,  efl*ecting  a 
transfer  from  a  physiological  to  a  psychological  stand  point. 
This  he  carries  out  by  a  psychological  system.  He  separates 
the  powers  and  capacities  of  the  mind  into  two  classes,  the 
understanding  and  the  will,  using  these  terms  to  denote 
two  distinct  assemblages  of  mental  phenomena.  He  makes 
three  faculties  of  the  understanding,  viz :  1.  Attention. 
2.  Comparison.  3.  Reasoning.  Attention  being  the  fun- 
damental principle  from  which  the  others  proceed. 

So  under  the  class  of  will,  he  makes  the  foundation  of 
all  voluntary  action  to  be  desire,  and  springing  from  this 

vi]  59 


466 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


467 


as  a  basis,  the  two  corresponding  phenomena  of  preference 
and  hberty.  Finally  he  shows  that  desire  itself  is  only  a 
peculiar  form  of  attention,  and  that  thus  the  fundamental 
principle  of  intellectual  and  voluntary  life  is  the  same. 

As  to  the  origin  of  ideas  he  makes  the  material  of  all 
knowledge  come  from  our  sensibility,  but  he  makes  that 
of  four  kinds.  1.  That  produced  by  the  action  of  external 
things  upon  the  mind.  2.  That  produced  by  the  action  of 
our  faculties  upon  each  other.  3.  That  produced  by  the  re- 
currence and  comparison  of  several  ideas  together,  giving 
the  perception  of  relations.  4.  That  produced  by  the  con- 
templation of  human  actions  as  right  or  wrong  which  is  the 
moral  faculty.  Thus  the  source,  or  origin,  of  ideas  is  i^nuch 
broader  than  that  proposed  by  Locke. 

There  are  also  two  other  French  metaphysicians  who 
precede  and  prepare  the  way  for  Victor  Cousin.  One  of 
these  was  Peter  Paul  Roger-Col  lard,  who  introduced  the 
doctrines  of  the  Scottish  school,  giving  the  appellation  of 
intellectual  instinct  to  what  Eeid  calls  principles  of  common 
sense ;  and  Stewart,  primary  laws  of  reason. 

The  other  was  M.  Maine  de  Biran  who,  penetrating  the 
depths  of  consciousness,  developed  the  activity  of  the  human 
mind,  the  power  of  the  will.  He  proclaimed  the  doctrine 
that  the  soul  is  a  cause,  a  force,  an  active  principle,  and 
that  the  voluntary  nature  of  its  thoughts  and  impulses  can 
alone  explain  the  phenomena  of  consciousness.  He  even 
held  that  the  idea  of  substance  was  to  us  nothing  more  than 
that  of  a  cause,  and  that  the  dynamical  theory  of  the  uni- 
verse, or  the  identity  of  substance  and  force,  was  the  true 
philosophical  basis. 

In  the  analysis  of  any  voluntary  act,  M.  Biran  detects 
three  elements :  1.  The  consciousness  of  a  voluntary 
effort.^  2.  The  consciousness  of  a  movement  produced. 
3.  A  fixed  relation  between  the  effort  on  one  hand  and 
the  movement  on  the  other.     The  source  of  all  is  the  will, 


which  is  the  representative  of  the  personality.  This  is  the 
efficient  cause  both  of  thinking  and  of  acting,  regulating 
the  flow  of  thought  as  well  as  the  course  of  action. 

M.  Biran's  philosophy  may  be  essentially  summed  up  in 

three  positions : 

The  first  consists  in  placing  in  the  will  all  the  elements 
of  human  activity.  The  immediate  effect  of  its  exertion  is 
seen  in  all  the  muscular  movements  of  the  organism  with 
which  it  is  connected. 

The  second  consists  in  identifying  the  will  with  person- 
ality, itself  thus  resolving  the  soul  into  a  collection  of  forces 
that  are  always  aggressive,  ever  acting,  and  never  passive. 

The  third  consists  in  evoking  the  idea  of  causality  from 
the  consciousness  of  our  own  acts  of  volition.  Here  the 
power  exerted,  and  the  effects  produced,  are  facts  revealed 
through  our  consciousness.  The  idea  of  cause  thus  ori- 
ginated is  transferred  into  the  objective  world,  and  reposing 
upon  analogy  we  conclude  that  there  also  exists  the  neces- 
sity of  a  sufficient  power  for  the  production  of  every  effect. 
In  the  exposition  of  this  third  and  last  position  he  affirms 
that  the  universe  consists  of  certain  powers  or  causes 
which  are  in  operation;^  and  that  these  powers  or  causes 
are  only  known  as  objective  realizations  of  our  own  inward 
personal  effort.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  M.  Biran  was  in 
the  highway,  and  already  far  advanced  towards  the  idealism 

of  Fichte. 

This  brings  us  to  Victor  Cousin,  who  is  the  great  exponent 
of  the  school  of  eclecticism,  to  the  consideration  of  which 
we  now  approach.  Cousin  was  born  in  1792,  and  enjoyed 
rare  opportunities  for  the  study  of  philosophy.  He  made 
himself  familiar  not  only  with  the  teachings  of  the  three  we 
have  just  mentioned,  but  also  with  the  critical  philosophy, 
and  the  doctrines  of  the  German  teachers,  as  well  as  those 
of  Leibnitz,  Descartes,  Locke,  and  others.  From  all 
these  he  derived  the  eclectic  doctrine.     His  thought  was 


'MoT€U,6'3d. 


Morcll,  G41. 


) 


468 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


469 


that  the  world's  thinking  had  progressed  far  enough  to 
justify  the  conclusion  that  the  germs  of  all  truth  had  heen 
presented,  but  always  mixed  with  error.  That  error  is 
nothing  but  an  incomplete  view  of  truth.  That  all  systems 
are  incomplete  views  of  the  reality,  but  are  set  up  for  com- 
plete images  of  the  reality.  That  all  systems  containing  a 
mixture  of  truth  and  error  have  only  to  be  brought  together,^ 
and  the  error  would  be  eliminated  by  the  juxtaposition  of 
system  with  system.  That  the  truth,  or  portion  of  the  truth, 
found  in  one  system  would  be  assimilated  with  the  portions 
of  the  truth  which  are  in  other  systems.  And  that,  con- 
sistent with  these  principles,  eclecticism  means  the  bringing 
together  of  all  discovered  truths  eliminated  from  their 
accompanying  errors,  and  the  elaboration  of  a  system  out 
of  this  body  of  truths. 

In  the  development  of  this  philosophy  we  are  naturally 
first  attracted  to  his  method.  Of  this  there  are  two :"  the 
rationalistic,  which  seeks  to  grasp  at  once  the  absolute  or 
fundamental  principle  from  which  everything  proceeds, 
and  then  to  follow  it  out  into  all  its  varieties  of  applica- 
tion ;  the  psychological,  which  merely  observes,  arranges, 
classifies,  and  thus  ultimately  arrives  at  the  principle  or 
law.  The  one  is  the  deductive  method  of  Aristotle ;  the 
other  the  inductive  of  Bacon.  The  one  is  synthesis ;  the 
other  analysis.  The  one  descends  from  generalities ;  the 
other  ascends  from  particulars. 

The  psychological  method  is  that  adopted  by  Cousin. 
He  considers  philosophy  as  well  as  physics  to  be  a  science 
of  facts.  The  main  difference  is  that  in  physics,  these 
facts  are  given  by  the  senses,  in  philosophy  by  conscious- 
ness, but  that  in  both  cases  the  application  of  the  inductive 
method  is  substantially  the  same,  and  is  governed  by  the 
same  general  rules. 

Neither  would  he  rest  on  mere  observation  of  facts  alone. 
As  a  system  of  experimenting  and  reasoning  forms  a  part 


-» 


{ 


*  Lewes,  649. 


of  the  Baconian  method  in  physics,  so  also,  according  to 
him  does  it  in  philosophy.  In  the  latter,  reflection  is  the 
instrument  of  experiment,  and  fills  the  place  of  artificial 
instruments  and  reproductive  processes  in  physical  science. 

M.  Cousin  makes  psychology  the  basis  and  starting 
point  of  all  true  philosophy.  He  would  first  examine  and 
classify  the  phenomena  of  mind.  He  would  enter  by 
reflection  into  the  chambers  of  the  soul,  investigating  every 
fact  of  the  consciousness  there  presented;  and  having 
obtained  these  data,  would  reason  upon  them  with  preci- 
sion, in  accordance  with  a  sound  logic. 

In  beginning  with  the  psychology  he  difi'ers  from  the 
German  school.  That  commences  with  the  absolute,  and 
reaches  psychology  through  a  combination  of  metaphysics 
and  physics.     It  is  rather  constructive  than  inductive. 

In  the  different  applications  of  this  method  come  up  for 
solution  some  of  the  most  profound  of  philosophical  prob- 
lems. M.  Cousin  has  not  given  to  the  world  any  complete 
philosophical  system.  In  his  Fhilosophical  Fragments 
and  Lectures  on  the  History  of  Modern  Fhilosophi/  are 
to  be  found  his  views  on  philosophical  questions.  These 
he  puts  forth  boldly,  and  clearly  compared  with  those  of 
the  German  writers.  As  they  are  drawn  from  all  the 
past  and  present  of  philosophy  they  are  always  inge- 
nious, often  convincing,  and  never  unworthy  an  attentive 
examination. 

The  first  subject  of  consideration  to  which  his  method  is 
directed,  is : 

I.  Psychology,  and  in  this  he  makes  a  complete  escape 
from  the  fetters  that  formerly  in  France  had  so  effbctually 
bound  everything  under  the  heavy  weight  of  materialism. 
In  his  exposition  of  psychological  phenomena  he  in  great 
part  follows  out  the  course  already  marked  out  by  M. 
Maine  de  Biran.  He  goes  into  the  depths  of  conscious- 
ness, and  undertakes  first  the  classification  of  its  pheno- 
mena.    These  he  divides  into  three  classes,  referable  to 


470 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE -ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


471 


three  great  elementary  faculties,  which  iii  their  combina- 
tions comprise  and  explain  all  others.     These  are : 

1.  Those  of  the  will. 

2.  Those  of  the  reason . 

3.  Those  of  sensation. 

These  three  are  capable  of  simultaneous  exercise,  and 
are  blended  together  in  the  unity  of  consciousness.  But 
although  constituting  a  perfect  unity  in  intellectual  life, 
yet  in  their  nature  and  essential  characteristics  they  are 
perfectly  distinct. 

The  faculty  of  will  is  placed  first,  because  in  its  exercise 
is  found  that  element  which  peculiarly  constitutes  our  dis- 
tinct personality.  It  also  involves  causality.  Those  things 
that  possess  no  personality  are  such  as  are  wholly  under 
external  influence.  All  that  which  we  express  by  the 
word  nature  is  impersonal.  It  is  wholly  subject  to  that 
which  is  extrinsic,  and  has  no  source  of  power  in  itself 
The  sensations  arising  from  contact  with  the  external 
world,  and  the  ideas  which  spring  spontaneously  from  the 
constitution  of  our  faculties,  are  wholly  irrespective  of  will. 
The  power  and  the  influence  of  both  are  as  certain  and  as 
necessary  as  the  outward  force  which  controls  the  move- 
ments of  the  material  objects  around  us.  When  all  the 
conditions  either  of  a  sensation  or  a  rational  idea  are  com- 
plete, the  will  cannot  prevent  the  sensibility  or  the  reason 
from  entering  into  exercise.  l!Teither  the  sensation  nor  the 
idea  ask  or  obtain  permission  of  the  will  to  become  facts 
of  consciousness. 

Before  the  will  comes  into  existence,  man  is  but  a  part 
of  nature  and  subjectto  the  play  of  the  physical  and  spiritual 
forces  by  which  he  is  surrounded.  But  the  consciousness 
of  an  inner  power  changes  the  entire  character.  Man  no 
longer  submits  passively  to  the  action  of  causes  from  with- 
out or  within.  The  will  has  become  a  power  that  wells 
up  from  the  depths  of  his  own  personality,  and  makes  him, 
in  turn,  a  cause  which  reacts  upon  others,  thus  essentially 
modifying  his  course  of  life.     The  will  must,  therefore,  be 


regarded  as  the  constituent  element  of  personality.  It  is 
only  in  its  activity  that  we  are  able  to  recognize  ourselves. 
It  is  only  by  distinguishing  ourselves  from  our  sensations 
and  their  objects  that  we  can  have  self-consciousness. 

In  the  consciousness  of  our  own  personal  activity  we 
awake  to  the  first  notion  of  cause.  In  its  very  essence  the 
will  is,  in  fact,  a  cause,  a  power,  a  force.  The  primitive  no- 
tion of  our  own  will  as  a  personal  cause,  becomes  the  type 
and  condition  of  the  notion  of  cause  in  general,  and  of  exter- 
nal impersonal  causes. 

All  mere  personal  acts  have  their  cause  in  an  active 
power,  the  only  cause  of  particular  actions  being  referred 
to  the  activity  itself  Hence  results  freedom.  The  very 
notion  of  liberty  is  that  of  a  power  which  acts  by  an  inher- 
ent energy  of  its  own,  by  a  power  of  self-determination. 
Liberty  is  not  self-determination  in  act,  but  in  power ;  and 
the  causal  energy  of  the  will  is  entirely  distinct  from  its 
instruments  or  external  manifestations.  There  may  exist 
a  perfect  paralysis  of  the  muscles  of  locomotion,  and  yet 
the  will  may  exist  with  all  its  energy. 

There  is  another  result  of  no  small  importance  flowing 
from  this  doctrine,  and  that  is  the  fact  of  moral  obligation. 
The  will  is  a  power  with  which  man  is  intrusted,  and  there 
is  devolving  upon  him  a  moral  obligation  to  exert  himself 
for  the  accomplishment  of  his  proper  destiny  in  the  world. 
Wherever  he  goes  he  carries  this  power,  and  is  ever  in 
the  midst  of  duties  and  rights.  He  is  the  master  of  his 
own  actions,  and  hence  is  morally  responsible  for  those  he 
elects  to  perform. 

2.  Another  very  interesting  portion  of  Cousin's  philoso- 
phical teaching  relates  to  the  reason.  In  this  are  bound  up 
the  elements  of  our  intellectual  life,  as  those  of  our  active, 
responsible,  and  moral  life,  are  in  those  of  the  will.  The 
first  position  that  strikes  us  is  the  impersonality  of  reason. 
It  is  no  part  of  our  free  activity.  It  is  absolute  in  its 
essence,  and  one  with  the  eternal  and  divine  reason.  It  is 
relatively  human,  and  only  as  it  manifests  itself  in  the 


472 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


473 


phenomena  of  human  consciousness.  "Eeason,"  says 
Cousin,  "  does  not  modify  itself  to  seek  our  pleasure. 
We  do  not  think  as  we  wish  to  think.  Our  understanding 
is  not  free.  We  do  not  make  the  laws  of  our  reason,  nor 
is  reason  our  personal  property.  Ideas  are  the  conceptions 
of  that  universal  and  absolute  reason  which  we  do  not  cause 
to  exist,  but  which  makes  its  appearance  in  us,  and  which 
is  a  law  to  all  individuals,  of  that  reason  which  Fenelon 
found  always  at  the  end  of  his  researches,  and  from  which 
he  in  vain  endeavored  to  abstract  his  thought,  without 
ever  being  able  to  separate  it  from  himself;  and  which, 
unceasingly  returning  into  all  his  thoughts,  finally  drew 
from  him  the  expression  :  '  0  Eeason,  Reason,  art  not  thou 
he  whom  I  seek.'  "  He  allows,  however,  that  reason  which, 
in  itself,  is  universal  and  absolute,  and  consequently  in- 
fallible, after  having  entered  into  human  perceptions,  and 
thereby  become  connected  with  perceptions  of  the  senses, 
the  passions  and  the  imagination,  is  no  longer  infallible. 
Truth  is  obtained  by  first  separating  it  from  the  fallible 
reason  of  man,  and  then  referring  it  to  universal,  absolute 
and  infallible  reason. 

The  necessary  convictions  of  reason  which  we  find  in  our 
consciousness  cannot  be  conceived  by  us  as  merely  relative 
to  our  minds  or  to  those  of  others.  They  appear  as  uni- 
versal truths,  truths  for  all  intelligences,^  truths  to  the 
divine  intelligence  equally  as  to  us,  but  no  more  than  to 
us ;  that  is,  they  are  truths  in  themselves,  truths  absolute, 
such  as  we  can  neither  make,  deny,  nor  modify,  by  any  act 
of  our  own  will,  and  which  no  will  in  tbe  universe  can 
make,  deny  or  modify.  Such  truth  is  the  common  patri- 
mony of  every  rational  nature.  It  is  the  decision  of  reason, 
which,  within  its  own  province,  possesses  an  authority 
little  short  of  divine. 

Eeason,  according  to  Cousin,  has  a  two-fold  development. 
The  first  is  primitive,  unreflective,  instinctive ;  the  second 


*  Hktory  of  Philosophy,  ii,  244. 


ulterior,  reflective,  voluntary.  The  first  is  spontaneous, 
the  second,  reflective.^  "  We  do  not,"  says  Cousin,  "  com- 
mence with  seeking  ourselves,  for  this  would  imply  that 
we  already  know  that  we  exist;  but,  on  a  certain  day,  at 
a  certain  hour,  or  moment  solemn  in  existence,  without 
having  sought  ourselves,  we  find  ourselves.  Thought  in 
its  instinctive  development,  discloses  to  us  that  we  are. 
We  affirm  our  existence  with  profound  assurance,  with  an 
assurance  unmingled  with  any  negation  whatsoever.  This 
affirmation,  anterior  to  all  reflection,  the  human  race  have 
called  inspiration.  Inspiration  belongs  not  to  us.  It  is  in 
all  languages  distinguished  from  reflection.  It  is  the  per- 
ception of  truth  without  the  intervention  of  volition  and 
of  individual  personality." 

"It  is,"  he  remarks,  "by  observation  that  within  tbe 
penetralia  of  the  consciousness  I  have  succeeded  in  seizing 
and  analyzing  the  instantaneous,  but  veritable  fact  of  the 
spontaneous  apperception  of  truth,  an  apperception  which, 
not  immediately  reflecting  itself,  passes  unperceived  in  the 
depths  of  the  consciousness;  yet  is  the  real  basis  of  that, 
which  later  under  a  logical  form,  and  in  the  hands  of 
reflection,  becomes  a  necessary  conception.  All  subject- 
ivity and  reflectivity  expires  in  the  spontaneity  of  apper- 
ception. But  the  primitive  light  is  so  pure,  that  it  is 
unperceived.^  It  is  the  reflected  light  which  strikes  us, 
but  often  in  doing  so,  sullies  with  its  faithless  lustre  the 
purity  of  the  former.  Eeason  becomes  subjective  by  its 
connection  with  the  free  and  voluntary  ine^  which  is  the 
type  of  all  subjectivity ;  but  in  itself  it  is  impersonal ;  it 
does  not  appertain  any  more  to  one  than  to  another;  it 
does  not  even  appertain  to  humanity  as  a  whole ;  its  laws 
emanate  only  from  itself" 

This  appeal  to  a  primitive,  original,  impersonal  reason 
in  which  every  human  being  floats,  almost  unconsciously, 
will  find  its  verification  among  the  facts  of  consciousness. 
There   are  periods  of  intellectual  life  in  which  the  mind 


^History  of  Philosophy,  164.    '^Morell,  651. 


I 

1 

■t 


VI] 


60 


474 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


mingles  up  no  element  whatever  of  its  own  personality, 
and  yet  in  which  there  is  an  apperception  of  certain  truths 
which  it  simply  receives.     The  thought  sometimes  comes 
suddenly  like  a  flash  of  inspiration ;  and  it  is  often  after  laying 
aside  all  personal  effort,  after  the  workings  of  the  intellect 
in  obedience  to  the  will  have  ceased,  and  the  still  conscious 
soul  has  laid  aside  all  its  personal  regalia,  and  retired  within 
itself,  thoughts  come  to  it  as  if  from  another  sphere,  and 
it  almost  realizes  that  in  shutting  out  from  itself  its  own 
personality,  it  has  entered  the  gateway  of  heaven.     And 
if  there  be  such  a  power  of  receiving  absolute  truth  with- 
out any  intermixture  of  personality,  it  is  obvious  that  the 
reason  viewed  as  a  spontaneous  principle,  must  possess  an 
absolute  and   all  controlling  authority.     Here  repose  the 
foundations  of  faith,  faith  in  reason ;  and  these  foundations 
are  such   that  they  cannot  be  shaken.     Here,  upon  this 
strong  ground.  Cousin  combats  that  exclusively  idealistic 
subjective  philosophy  that  renders   the  thinking  subject, 
the  ego,  the  life  and  centre  of  everything  that  is,  and  he 
invokes   the  lofty  authority  of  this   primitive   reason   as 
furnishing  in  itself  the  evidence  of  that  objective  reality 
which  the  highest  and  purest  forms  of  idealism  so  coisa- 
pletely  banish  from  created  things.     And  thus  he  would 
establish  the  objective  validity  of  the  external  universe  on 
the  ground  that  its  evidence  can  be  subjected  to  no  test 
higher  than  itself. 

This  philosophy  differs  essentially  from  the  critical,  as 
Kant  made  all  our  necessary  ideas  and  h  priori  conceptions 
to  be  simply  the  results  of  the  subjective  laws  of  our  own 
minds.  He  made  all  abstract  truth  but  the  personification, 
or  the  reflection  of  our  own  intellectual  constitution. 

But  although  the  primitive,  unreflective  reason  is  infal- 
lible, in  all  its  decisions,  yet  it  is  otherwise  with  that  which 
is  ulterior,  reflective,  voluntary.  It  then  becomes  mixed 
up  with  motives,  passions,  volitions,  intellection,  and  thus 
partakes  of  the  imperfections  of  that  reflective  power  of 
which  it  is  made  the  instrument.  "  Spontaneity,"  says 
Cousin,  ''gives  truth,  reflection,  produces  science.     One 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


475 


furnishes  a  broad  and  solid  basis  for  the  developments  of 
humanity ;  the  other  impresses  upon  these  developments 
their  veritable  form.  But  by  reflection  nothing  can  be 
given  that  was  not  contained  in  the  first  aflirmation,  in  the 
phenomenon  to  which  reflection  was  applied." 

Reflection,  therefore,  presupposes  an  anterior  operation 
of  the  reason  and  intelligence.  It  only  adds  itself  to  what 
was  already  in  the  mind.  It  goes  back  and  distinguishes, 
analyzes,  but  does  not  create  the  elements  to  which  it 
applies  itself. 

Having  arrived  at  the  reflective  power  involving  will, 
personality,  he  employs  it  in  analyzing  the  phenomena  of 
our  rational  life,  with  the  view  of  reducing  its  multiplicity 
of  facts  to  their  primary  elements.  This  had  been  before 
attempted,  but  with  little  success.  Aristotle  had  framed  a 
table  of  categories,  but  had  classified  from  the  objective 
point  of  view.  His  arrangement  was  arbitrary,  not  corre- 
sponding to  the  development  of  intelligence.  The  Cartesian 
philosophy  admitted  necessary  truths,  but  did  not  attempt 
a  complete  enumeration  of  them.  The  sensualistic  schools 
recognized  none.  The  Scottish  did,  but  gave  no  complete 
account  of  them.  Kant  had  done  this  the  most  perfectly. 
His  categories  were  deduced  from  the  subjective  stand  point, 
and  he  gives  us  a  deduction  of  all  those  laws  or  forms  of 
the  understanding,  by  which  the  material  of  our  knowledge 
is  shaped  into  distinct  ideas.  Cousin,  bringing  to  the  task 
all  the  lights  he  could  obtain  from  the  difterent  schools 
and  systems  of  philosophy,  claims  to  reduce  the  whole  phe- 
nomena of  our  reason  to  three  integrant  and  inseparable 
elements,  which  constitute  its  true  nature,  and  govern  all 
its  manifestations. 

The  first  element,  or  category,  is  substance,  which  every 
quality  supposes.  This  is  exhibited  under  various  forms, 
and  yet  all  having  a  certain  relation  to  each  other.  These 
are  variously  expressed  under  the  terms  :  unity,  identity,  the 
absolute,  the  infinite.     This  is  logically  the  first  in  order. 

The  second  is  the  category  of  causality,  as  it  embodies 
the  principle  of  all  change,  of  all  the  passing  phenomena 


476 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


477 


of  the  universe.  As  every  quality  supposes  a  substance, 
so  every  phenomenon  supposes  a  cause.  This  is  chronolo- 
gically the  first  in  order,  as  the  idea  of  cause  must  be  first 
in  the  order  of  acquisition  as  the  condition  of  the  idea  of 
substance.  This  also  is  exhibited  under  various  forms  hav- 
ing the  same  kind  of  relation  to  each  other.  They  are 
in  direct  opposition  to  the  former,  and  are  expressed  under 
the  terms  plurality,  difference,  the  conditioned,  the  finite, 
the  phenomenal. 

These  two  are  the  fundamental  principles  of  which  all 
others  are  derivatives.  They  are  given  to  us  contempora- 
neously in  the  unity  of  consciousness.  The  absolute  only 
finds  its  manifestation  in  the  phenomenal,  while  the  phe- 
nomenal can  only  subsist  in  the  absolute.  But  here  we 
arrive  at  a  third  element,  or  category,  and  that  is  found  in 
the  mutual  relation  which  these  two  categories  bear  to 
each  other. 

The  three  together  are  always  in  manifestation  wherever 
the  human  reason  is  seen  in  operation.  They  form  the 
type  under  which  every  subject  is  viewed.  They  control 
the  operations  of  an  intellectual  nature,  and  govern  its 
whole  development.  The  following  table  will  show  the 
extent  of  this  doctrine  of  categories  : 


In  the  first  category  are 
included  : 

Unity 

Absolute  Space 

Absolute  Existence 

Eternity 

Infinite 

Primary  Cause 

Substance 

Mind 

Beau  Ideal 

The  Perfect 

Contraction 

Subject 


In  the  meond  category 

an  liK'ludid : 

Multiplicity 

Bounded  Space 

Dependent  Existence 

Time 

Finite 

Secondary  Cause 

Plienomena 

Tliouorlita 

Beau  Ideal 

The  Imperfect 

Expansion 

Object 


00 


da 


-♦J 

O) 

CD 

a 

o 

•  >-4 
-♦J 

a 

I— I 


According  to  Cousin,  the  human  understanding  neither 
begins  with  unity  and  the  infinite,  nor  with  the  finite,  the 


h 


contingent  and  multiple.  K  it  begin  with  unity  alone  it 
can  never  reach  multiplicity;  if  it  depart  from  multiplicity 
alone  it  can  never  arrive  at  unity.  If  it  depart  from 
phenomenon  alone  it  will  never  arrive  at  the  first  cause,^  at 
substance.  The  two  fundamental  ideas  to  which  reason 
is  reduced,  are  two  ideas  contemporaneous  in  reason ;  two 
which  reason  cannot  be  without,  and  which  moreover  ar- 
rive at  the  same  time.  In  the  order  of  the  acquisition  of 
knowledge  the  one  supposes  the  other.  As  we  do  not 
begin  with  the  senses  and  experience  alone,  and  as  we  do 
not,  any  more,  begin  with  abstract  thought  and  intelligence 
alone ;  and  as  we  must  unite  these  two  points  of  departure 
into  one  ;  so  the  human  mind  begins  neither  with  idealism 
nor  with  realism ;  neither  with  unity  nor  multiplicity.  It 
begins,  and  cannot  but  begin,  with  one  and  the  other. 
The  one  is  the  opposite  of  the  other.  It  is  a  contrary  im- 
plying its  contrary;  one  is,  only  on  the  condition  that  the 
other  is  at  the  same  time.  This  is  their  relation  in  the 
order  of  the  acquisition  of  our  knowledges.  But  it  is  the 
relation  of  these  two  ideas  in  the  mind,  and  not  their  rela- 
tion in  themselves.  Thus  all  perceptible  existence,  all 
reality,  consists  in  the  unity  of  these  two  elements.  They 
must  coexist,  that,  from  their  existence,  there  may  result 
reality.  The  fundamental  vice  of  the  schools  consists  in 
placing  unity  on  one  side  and  multiplicity  on  the  other ; 
and  establishing  such  an  opposition  between  them,  that  all 
passage  from  one  to  the  other  seems  impossible. 

The  method  of  solution  adopted  by  Cousin  is  that  im- 
mensity, eternity,  infinity,  substance,  being  in  itself,  the 
absolute,  each  is  also  a  cause  ;  not  a  relative,  contingent, 
and  finite  cause,  but  an  absolute  cause,  and  unity  or  sub- 
stance, being  an  absolute  cause,cannot  but  pass  into  act,  can- 
not but  develop  itself.  If  being  in  itself  is  an  absolute  cause, 
creation  is  not  only  possible,  it  is  necessary,  and  the  world 
cannot  but  be.     Thus  unity  in  itself,  as  absolute  cause, 


^History  of  Philosophy ,  114. 


478 


HISTOHY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


479 


contains  the  power  of  becoming  variety  and  difference. 
And  as  soon  as  this  power  is  put  forth,  it  is  no  longer  the 
primitive  unity ;  it  is  a  unity  rich  with  its  own  fruits,  and 
in  it,  multiplicity,  variety,  and  life  meet  together. 

3.  The  third  division  of  psychology  relates  to  the  pheno- 
mena of  sensation.  By  sensation  he  means  that  faculty 
which  acquaints  us  with  the  facts  and  changes  of  the  out- 
ward world.  Whatever  knowledge  we  have  of  external 
nature  arises  from  internal  impressions  made  by  it  upon  the 
mind  through  the  medium  of  sensation.  But  the  ques- 
tion arises  what  is  it  that  creates  the  impressions  ?  Is  it  a 
hard,  impenetrable,  and  passive  material,  composed  origin- 
ally of  atoms ;  or  is  it  powers,  forces,  causes,  something 
active  and  productive  of  impulse  ?  The  common  sense  of 
mankind  decides  for  the  former,  but  science  deals  in  statics 
and  dynamics,  regards  forces,  and  looks  upon  all  material 
phenomena  as  the  productions  of  certain  powers  acting 
with  different  intensities  and  in  different  directions.  Cou- 
sin adopts  the  latter  explanation,  inquiring  what  natural 
philosopher,  since  Euler,  seeks  after  anything  beyond  forces 
and  laws?  And  if  modern  science  occupies  itself  only 
with  forces  and  laws,  I  conclude,  he  says,  rigorously  from 
hence,  that  natural  philosophy,  whatever  it  may  know,  or 
not  know,  is  by  no  means  materialistic  ;^  that  it  became 
spiritualistic,  the  very  day  it  rejected  all  other  methods, 
except  observation  and  induction,  which  can  lead  us  to 
nothing  but  forces  and  laws.  Laws  he  defines  to  be  the 
necessary  relations  which  are  derived  from  the  nature  of 
things.^ 

Cousin  is,  therefore,  a  species  of  idealist,  but  he  does  not 
lose  sight  of  the  fundamental  idea  of  nature.  He  denies  its 
passive,  inert,  atomic  character.  He  views  it  entirely 
under  the  type  of  power  or  cause,  and  thus  makes  it,  in  a 
manner,  homogeneous  with  mind;  but  it  is  mind  in  its 
lower  and  as  yet  unconscious  state  of  development. 


- 


'  Morcll,  053.    ""  Eiatory  of  PJiilompliy,  102. 


\ 

\ 


The  second  subject  of  attention  to  which  his  method  is 
directed  is : 

I.  Ontology,  and  this  is  viewed  by  philosophers  in  three 

different  lights  : 

1.  The  German  school  regards  it  as  the  starting  point 
of  all  intellectual  science.  It  constructs  the  entire  uni- 
verse by  adding  one  attribute  after  another  to  being  which 
it  assumes  to  be  originally  general  and  abstract.  Having 
determined  the  essence  of  things  it  then  expands  the  law 
by  which  it  rises  through  all  the  multiplicity  of  its  changes 
and  gradations  to  its  most  fully  developed  character. 

2.  The  Scottish  school  inderdicts  ontological  science  as 
being  beyond  the  reach  of  our  faculties.^  It  confines  itself 
to  psychology,  the  analysis  and  classification  of  our  mental 
phenomena.  It  accepts  as  true  in  regard  to  ourselves  what- 
ever the  universal  testimony  of  the  human  faculties  attests ; 
but  leaves,  without  any  attempted  explanation,  the  mys- 
teries of  absolute  existence. 

3.  The  eclectic  school  of  Cousin  seeks  to  find  a  middle 
course,  which  shall  combine  the  truths  of  both  without  the 
errors  of  either.  His  commencement  is  with  the  Scottish 
school,  analyzing  the  facts  of  our  conscious  existence,  but 
instead  of  finding  in  psychology  an  ultimate  limit,  he  affirms 
the  possibility  of  finding  a  solid  passage  from  the  subjective 
world  to  the  objective,  from  the  phenomenal  to  the  real. 
He  finds  in  the  impersonality  of  reason,  and  in  the  spon- 
taneity of  its  action  and  reception  of  truth,  the  bridge  that 
spans  the  abyss  intervening  between  the  subjective  and 
objective  worlds. 

In  the  view  of  Cousin  the  fundamental  fact  of  conscious- 
ness is  a  complex  phenomenon  composed  of  three  terms, 
which  he  denominates  the  me,  the  not  me,  and  the  relation 
between  the  two.  "  When  I  perceive  myself,"  says  he,  "  I 
distinguish  myself  from  all  which  is  7iot  me  ;  and  in  distin- 
guishing myself  from  all  that  is  not  me,  I  do  two  things  : 


'  Marell,  C54. 


i 


480 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


481 


Pirat.  I  affirm  my  own  existence ;  Secondly,  I  also  affirm 
the  existence  of  that  from  which  I  distinguish  myself. 
Man,  then,  does  not  discover  his  own  existence,  without 
discovering  at  the  same  time,  the  existence  of  some  other 
thing,  which  surrounds  and  therefore  limits  him.^  The  me 
is,  therefore,  finite ;  and  it  is  only,  inasmuch  as  it  is  limited 
and  finite,  that  it  is  me.  But  if  the  exterior  world  bounds 
the  me,  and  opposes  to  it  a  kind  of  obstacle  in  every  direc- 
tion, so  the  me  acta  upon  the  world,  modifies  it,  opposes 
itself  to  its  action,  and  impresses  its  own  action  upon  it  to 
a  certain  degree  ;  and  this  degree,  however  feeble,  becomes 
to  the  world  a  bound,  a  limit.  Thus  the  world,  which  in 
its  opposition  to  the  me,  is  the  liiiiit  of  the  me,  or  is  the  7ioi 
me,  is  in  its  turn  opposed,  modified,  limited  by  the  me  ; 
which,  while  it  ia  obliged  to  acknowledge  itself  limited, 
bounded  and  finite,  yet  also  impresses  the  character  of 
bounded,  limited  and  finite,  upon  the  exterior  world,  the 
not  me,  from  which  it  is  distinguished.  It  is  in  this  mutual 
opposition  that  we  lay  hold  upon  ourselves  ;  this  opposition 
ia  permanent  in  the  consciousness  of  man ;  it  endures 
while  there  is  any  consciousness.  But  this  opposition 
resolves  itself  into  one  single  notion,  that  of  the  finite. 
The  me,  which  we  are,  ia  finite ;  the  not  me,  which  limits 
and  is  limited  by  the  me,  is  also  finite.  We  are,  therefore, 
still  in  the  sphere  of  the  finite. 

But  while  the  consciousness  apprehends  the  me  as  finite, 
in  its  opposition  to  the  not  me,  which  ia  also  finite,  it  refers 
both  this  7ne  and  this  not  yne,  which  are  finite,  bounded, 
relative,  contingent,  to  a  superior,  absolute,  and  necessary 
unity,  which  contains  and  explains  them,  and  which  has  all 
the  characteristics  that  are  in  opposition  to  those  which  the 
me  finds  in  itself,  and  in  that  not  me  which  is  analogous  to 
it.  This  unity  ia  absolute,  whilst  the  me  and  the  not  me  are 
relative.  This  unity  is  a  substance,  whilst  the  me  and  the 
not  me  are  in  themselves  simple  phenomena. 


"  But  this  superior  unity  is  not  a  substance  only,  it  is  also 
a  cause.  Indeed  the  me  only  apprehends  itself  in  its  acts, 
as  a  cause  which  acts  upon  the  exterior  world ;  and  the  ex- 
terior world  comes  within  the  knowledge  of  theme,  only  by 
the  impressions  it  produces,  by  the  sensations  which  the 
me  experiences,  which  it  does  not  cause  and  cannot  destroy, 
and  which  it,  therefore,  cannot  refer  to  itself,  and  conse- 
quently refers  to  something  foreign  to  itself  as  g.  cause. 
This  foreign  cause  is  the  world  ;  and  as  it  is  a  finite  cause, 
and  as  the  me  is  also  a  finite  cause,  therefore  that  unity, 
that  substance,  which  comprehends  both  the  me  and  the 
not  me,  being  also  a  cause,  must  consequently  be,  in  its  na- 
ture, an  infinite  cause.  Thus  we  refer  both  this  world  and 
ourselves  to  something  better,  beyond  which  it  is  impossi- 
ble for  us  to  conceive  anything,  of  existence,  of  duration, 
of  power,  and  of  wisdom." 

In  this  manner  Cousin  would  apprehend  the  infinite,  the 
eternal  God;  but  it  would  seem  to  follow  from  this  that 
God  must  comprehend  the  universe  in  himself,  and  that 
all  finite  existence  is  but  the  emanation  from  his  infinite 

existence. 

He  endeavors,  however,  to  avoid  exhibiting  the  deity  in 
a  pantheistic  light,^  and  he  asserts  that  "  the  God  of  con- 
sciousness is  not  an  abstract  God,  a  solitary  sovereign,  ban- 
ished beyond  creation  upon  the  throne  of  a  silent  eternity 
and  an  absolute  existence,  which  resembles  existence  in  no 
respect  whatever ;  he  is  a  God  at  once  true  and  real,  at  once 
substance  and  cause,  always  substance  and  always  cause ; 
being  substance  only  inasmuch  as  he  is  cause,  and  being 
cause  only  inasmuch  substance  ;  that  is  to  say  being  abso- 
lute cause,  one  and  many,  eternity  and  time,  essence  and 
life,  end  and  middle,  at  the  summit  of  existence,  and  at  its 
base,  infinite  and  finite  together ;  in  a  word,  a  trinity,  being 
at  the  same  time  God,  nature,  and  humanity." 


'  History  of  PMlosopliy,  149,  150. 


*  Morell,  655. 
Vl] 


61 


482 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


He  claims  that  the  liumaii  mind  can  comprehend  the 
absolute,  the  unconditioned.  In  reference  to  this  there 
have  been  four  different  opinions  among  philosophers. 

1.  The  absolute  is  altogether  inconceivable.  This  we 
have  seen  is  the  doctrine  of  the  Scottish  school  as  ex- 
pounded by  Sir  William  Hamilton. 

2.  The  absolute,  though  not  an  object  of  real  knowledge, 
yet  exists  subjectively  within  our  consciousness  as  a  regu- 
lative principle.     This  was  the  opinion  of  Kant. 

3.  The  absolute  cannot  be  comprehended  in  conscious- 
ness and  reflection ;  but  it  can  be  gazed  upon  by  a  higher 
faculty,  that  of  intellectual  intuition.  This  was  the  opinion 
of  Schelling. 

4.  The  absolute  can  be  grasped  by  reason,  and  brought 
within  the  compass  of  our  real  consciousness.  This  was 
the  opinion  of  Cousin.  He  maintained  that  God  is  not 
absolutely  incomprehensible,  because  being  the  cause  of  the 
universe  he  passes  into  it,  and  is  reflected  in  it,  as  the  cause 
is  in  the  eflfect,  and  therefore  we  recognize  him.  Again 
all  nations  have  petitioned  him,  since  the  first  day  of  the 
intellectual  life  of  humanity.  But  God  is  not  absolutely 
comprehensible.  "  He  is,"  says  Cousin,  "  both  invisible 
and  present,  revealed  and  withdrawn  in  himself,  in  the 
world  and  out  of  the  world,  so  familiar  and  intimate  with 
his  creatures,  that  we  see  him  by  opening  our  eyes,  that  we 
feel  him  in  feeling  our  hearts  beat,  and  at  the  same  time  in- 
accessible in  his  impenetrable  majesty,  mingled  with  every 
thing  and  separated  from  everything;  manifesting  him- 
self in  universal  life  and  causing  scarcely  an  ephemeral 
shadow  of  his  eternal  essence  to  appear  there,  communicat- 
ing himself  without  cessation,  and  remaining  incommuni- 
cable; at  once  the  living  God,  and  the  God  concealed." 
He  maintains  that  God  was  perfectly  free  to  create  or  not  to 
create ;  but  that  he  has  created  because  he  has  found  creation 
to  be  more  in  conformity  with  his  wisdom  and  his  goodness. 

These  are  the  main  eclectic  doctrines  as  expounded  by 
Cousin.     It  will  be  seen  that  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  this 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


483 


system  consists  not  merely  in  making  the  absolute  and 
infinite  a  matter  of  positive  cognition,  but  also  in  holding 
the  twofold  distinction  of  reason  into  spontaneous  and 
reflective,  and  in  making  the  former  as  impersonal,  and, 
therefore,  not  subjective,  the  faculty  of  immediately  know- 
ing the  absolute  and  infinite.  The  spontaneous  reason 
apprehends  the  absolute  and  infinite  by  an  act  of  positive 
knowledge,  it  reveals  them  in  consciousness,  but  without 
thereby  making  them  merely  subjective.^ 

There  is  much  in  this  system  that  is  worthy  of  careful 
study  by  the  student  of  philosophy.  It  has  been  objected 
to  it  that  in  rendering  the  thoughts  that  flow  in  from  the 
spontaneous,  impersonal  reason  infallible,  it  enables  it  to 
usurp  the  place  of  inspiration,  rendering  the  immediate 
reception  of  divine  light  nothing  more  than  the  natural  play 
of  the  spontaneous  reason,  nothing  more  than  has  been 
witnessed  and  will  be  again  in  men  of  great  genius. 

Another  objection  made  against  it  is  that  it  is  a  system 
of  pantheism  in  that  its  deity,  although  possessing  a  con- 
scious personality,  yet  still  is  one  which  contains  in  itself 
the  infinite  personality  and  consciousness  of  every  subordi- 
nate mind.  That  such  a  theory  is  inconsistent  with  moral 
evil,  and  with  human  liberty.  But  this  is  met  by  Cousin 
with  a  direct  denial.  Pantheism  is  certainly  not  expressed 
anywhere  in  his  writings,  but  the  reverse.  It  is  also  denied 
that  it  is  a  necessary  consequence  from  his  principles.  That 
he  neither  confounds  the  infinite  with  the  finite,  thus  mak- 
ing God  nothing  but  the  collective  whole  of  the  universe ; 
nor  the  finite  with  the  infinite,  thus  denying  the  substan- 
tial existence  of  the  finite,  and  making  the  infinite  one  the 
only  being.  There  is,  perhaps,  some  difficulty  in  steering 
entirely  clear  of  these  objections,  although  the  fuller  and 
more  complete  development  of  the  system  may  remove 
many  that  now  appear  to  be  objectional  features. 


'  History  of  PMlosopUy,  ii,  256,  257. 


484 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


485 


Positive  System  of  PhilosojyJij/  —  Comic. 

Auguste  Comte  was  bom  in  1797,  and  has  recently  de- 
ceased. He  is  the  author  of  the  positive  system  of  philo- 
sophy, the  last  link  in  the  chain  of  speculative  thought. 

This  system  begins  by  defining  philosophy,  which 
according  to  it,^  is  the  explanation  of  the  phenomena  of  the 
universe.  Any  one  who  studies  the  system,  however,  would 
recognize  as  a  better  definition,  an  inquiry  into  the  succes- 
sion of  these  phenomena.  It  is  in  this  that  the  essence  of 
this  philosophy  consists.  It  really  seeks  no  explanation 
any  further  than  what  is  involved  in  such  succession.  It 
makes  no  appeal  to  any  power,  agency,  or  even  principle, 
that  can  render  an  explanation  in  any  degree  intelligible. 
It  utterly  exiles  God  from  creation.  It  banishes  from  it 
every  metaphysical  creation,  or  entity,  that  can  come  under 
the  denomination  of  cause.  It  recognizes  no  causes 
whether  final,  physical  or  immediate.  Although  it  nomi- 
nally admits  laws,  yet  it  is  merely  nominal,  and  as  a  kind 
of  concession  to  the  ignorance  and  prejudice  of  the  age. 
It  does  not,  and  cannot  consistently  with  itself,  really 
admit  them.  It  says  itself  "the  conception  implied  in 
laws  of  nature  is  the  last  and  most  refined  expression 
of  the  metaphysical  stage  of  speculation.^  In  it  law  re- 
places the  ancient  principle.  In  it  law  is  the  delicate 
abstract  entity  superadded  to  the  phenomena."  It  there- 
fore objects  to  the  use  of  the  term  law  unless  it  can  be 
defined  to  be  the  mere  relation  of  coexistence  and  suc- 
cession." It  proposes  to  substitute  methods  in  the  place 
of  laws,^  understanding  by  method,  a  path  leading  onwards, 
a  way  of  transit.  The  methods^of  nature  would,  therefore, 
suit  it  much  better,  as  they  would  express  the  paths  along 
which  the  activities  of  nature  traveled  to  phenomena.  If 
cause  and  law  are  banished  from  the  system,  surely  a  first 
cause  and  a  lawgiver  must  be  the  merest  supernumeraries. 


The  method  by  which  the  positive  philosophy  proposes 
to  arrive  at  scientific  results  does  not  difier  essentially  from 
the  Baconian.  It  teaches  that  "  a  law  of  nature  can  only 
be  discovered  by  induction  or  deduction.^  Often,  however, 
neither  method  is  of  itself  sufllcient  without  our  previously 
making  temporary  suppositions  regarding  some  of  the  very 
facts  of  which  we  are  in  search."  The  condition  upon 
which  progress  in  science  depends  may  be  thus  stated: 
*'  that  we  must  never  imagine  any  hypotheses  which  are 
not  by  nature  susceptible  of  a  positive  verification  sooner  or 
later,  and  which  shall  have  exactly  that  degree  of  precision 
ascertainable  in  the  study  of  the  corresponding  phenomena. 
In  other  words,  truly  philosophical  hypotheses  must  always 
present  the  character  of  simple  anticipations  of  what  ex- 
perience and  reasoning  are  capable  of  at  once  discovering 
when  the  circumstances  of  the  problem  are  more  favorable." 
Thus  ISTewton's  great  discovery  was  at  first  only  an  hypo- 
thesis. It  became  a  theory  after  verification.  Kepler  made 
nineteen  hypotheses  respecting  the  form  of  the  planetary 
orbits,  and  abandoned  them,  one  by  one,  till  he  settled  on 
the  elliptical  form,  which,  on  verification,  proved  correct, 
and  then  was  no  longer  an  hypotheses. 

But  this  philosophy  limits  the  employment  of  hypotheses 
to  things  which  are  accessible  to  observation  and  to  reason. 
It  asserts  that  all  scientific  inquiries  are  restricted  to  the 
analysis  of  phenomena,  to  discover  their  laws,  and  in  no 
sense  to  discover  their  causes,  either  essential  or  final. 
That  every  hypothesis  which  transcends  the  limit  of 
positive  science  leads  to  endless  discussion  without  any 
chance  of  agreement. 

Comte  distinguishes  hypotheses  into  two  classes.  The 
one  simply  refers  to  the  laws  of  the  phenomena.  The 
other  relates  to  the  determination  of  the  ireneral   aorents 

CD  o 

supposed   to  produce  the  difterent  kinds  of  phenomena. 
He  claims  the  first  can  only  be  legitimately  employed.     In 


» Lem  ,^\s  Con* /< ,  18.    "" Idem,  52.    "  Idem,  55. 


' Lcwca's  Cviiitc,  105. 


486 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


487 


his  philosophy  there  are  no  agents  producing  different 
kinds  of  phenomena;  and  the  assumption  of  any  such 
instead  of  explaining  phenomena  only  has  the  effect  of 
increasing  the  number  of  things  requiring  explanation ; 
because  they,  in  their  turn,  demand  explanation  as  much 
as  the  phenomena  they  are  introduced^to  explain. 

The  positive  philosophy,  according  to  Comte,  rests  upon 
three  initial  conceptions  :  ^ 

1.  That  all  the  sciences,  whetlier  physical,  moral,  or 
social,  are  all  branches  of  one  science,  and  are  therefore  to 
be  investigated  on  one  and  the  same  method. 

2.  The  fundamental  law  of  human  development,  or 
evolution,  which  he  thus  states :  "  There  are  but  three 
phases  of  intellectual  evolution,  for  the  individual  as  well 
as  for  the  mass,  the  theological,  the  metaphysical  and  the 
positive." 

3.  The  classification  of  the  sciences,  commencing  with 
the  study  of  the  simplest  phenomena,  and  proceeding  suc- 
cessively to  the  most  complex  and  particular,  arranging 
them  according  to  their  dependence  on  each  other. 

The  first  and  third  of  these  conceptions  may  be  very  well 
considered  together,  as  really  constituting  but  one. 

The  second  presents  a  curious  theory,  which,  although  as 
such,  may  not  be  necessary  to  enter  into  the  constitution 
of  positivism,  yet  the  absolute  annihilation  of  everything 
theological  or  metaphysical  must  take  place  before  positiv- 
ism can  be  possible. 

In  the  first,  or  theological  phase,  the  mind  not  only  seeks 
after  causes,  but  also  strives  to  attain  the  essences  of  things 
as  well  as  the  how  and  why  of  their  operation.  It  looks 
to  the  supernatual,  and  regards  the  pleasure  or  displeasure 
of  some  god  as  the  foundation  of  unusual  phenomena. 

In  the  metaphysical  phase  there  is  a  marked  progress 
from  the  theological.  The  mind  here  dispenses  with  all 
supernatural  agents.     It  has  passed  beyond  the  necessity  of 


having  gods  to  worship  and  to  influence  phenomena,  and 
substitutes  in  their  place  abstract  forces,  causes,  or  entities 
supposed  to  inhere  in  various  substances,  and  to  be  capable 
of  engendering  phenomena. 

In  the  third,  or  positive  phase,  the  mind  has  become 
convinced  of  the  futility  of  all  inquiry  into  both  essences 
and  causes,  and  restricts  itself  to  the  observation  and  classi- 
fication of  phenomena,  and  to  the  discovery  of  the  invariable 
relations  of  succession  and  similitude  which  things  bear 
to  each  other,  or  to  sum  it  up  to  the  discovery  of  the  laws 
of  phenomena. 

The  theological  phase,  according  to  Comte,  is  the 
primitive  spontaneous  exercise  of  the  speculative  faculty 
proceeding  from  the  known  to  the  unknown.  The  meta- 
physical, the  more  matured  effort  of  reason,  to  explain 
things.  But  the  reasoning  is  without  proofs,  and  upon 
subjects  transcending  human  capacity.  The  positive  ex- 
plains phenomena  by  ascertained  laws,  which  are  not  only 
shown  to  be  demonstrable  to  reason  but  accordant  with 
fact.  It  holds  it  to  be  idle,  to  penetrate  beyond  the  laws 
which  regulate  phenomena. 

The  theological  stage  marks  the  infancy  of  man,  and 
also  the  earlier  periods  of  the  race.  I  say  earlier  periods, 
for  it  is  difficult  to  conceive  how  in  accordance  with  this 
system  the  race  can  have  an  infancy.  It  regards  nature 
as  the  theatre  upon  which  the  wills  and  caprices  of  superior 
powers  are  constantly  playing  their  various  parts.  Men, 
having  then  had  less  experience,  are  startled  at  unusual  oc- 
currences, and  entertain  conceptions  of  gods  in  order  to  ex- 
plain them.  An  eclipse,  for  instance,  was  owing  to  a  monster 
swallowing  up  the  sun.  The  prayers  and  sacrifices  of 
man  may,  by  conciliating  some  god,  bring  down  showers 
of  rain  upon  the  parched  earth. 

This  stage,  however,  has  a  progress,  and  three  successive 
stages  that  clearly  mark  it.^    The  earliest  and  lowest  period 


^Lewes's  Vo)iite,  'J,  10,  IL 


^  Lares' s  Comte,  273. 


V 


488 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZxVTION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


489 


is  that  of  fetichism.  This  regards  all  exterior  bodies  as  ani- 
mated with  a  life  essentially  analogous  to  our  own.  In 
this  stage  there  are  no  such  thing  as  laws.  Every  pheno- 
mena depends  upon  the  arbitrary  will  of  the  correspond- 
ing fetiche. 

The  next  advance  brings  us  to  simple  polytheism.  In  the 
passage  from  one  to  the  other  we  recognize  an  effort  at 
generalization.  As  each  fetiche  was  endowed  with  a  ma- 
terial individuality,  it  was  impossible  for  one  to  exist  and 
be  common  to  various  bodies.  In  polytheism  it  became 
necessary  to  assimilate  the  corresponding  fetiches,  and 
finally  to  reduce  them  to  the  principal  amongst  them,  who 
from  that  time  was  raised  to  the  rank  of  a  god.  He  thus 
became  an  ideal  and  invisible  agent,  and  indeterminable 
as  to  space.  This  passage  to  polytheism  indicates  the 
preponderance  of  general  over  individual  ideas. 

Monotheism  was  simply  a  further  advance,  a  limitation 
to  one  god  of  the  same  powers  that  had  formerly  been 
exercised  by  several. 

In  all  these  different  theological  stages,  the  mind  is  ever 
looking  beyond  the  fact  for  its  explanation,  and  this  same 
tendency  to  imagine  an  agency  superadded  to  the  pheno- 
mena is  also  visible  in  the  metaphysical  period. 

This  period,  according  to  Comte,  yet  lingers,  and  still 
continues  to  exercise  a  strong  influence  upon  the  minds  of 
men.  The  idea  of  invariableness  is  admitted,  but  for  the 
purpose  of  explaining  it  some  entity  or  principle  is  ima- 
gined. Thus  there  is  still  the  vis  inertia,  the  overcoming,  in 
natural  philosophy;  the  affinities  in  chemistry;  and  the 
animating  principle  in  animals  and  plants.  The  existence 
of  organic  agents  is  assumed  to  produce  and  regulate  vital 
phenomena.     So  also  that  of  intelligent  agents. 

In  the  positive  stage,  our  province  is  to  study  the  laws  of 
nature,  to  trace  her  processes,  and  to  sit  down  in  contented 
ignorance  of  all  transcendent  subjects.  To  accept  nature 
as  she  presents  herself  never  seeking  beyond  the  facts  for 
fantastic  entities. 


Comte  illustrates  the  fundamental  law  of  evolution  by 
analogies  derived  from  the  human  organism.  One  of  the 
laws  of  embryology  he  states  to  be  that  "  every  function  is 
successively  by  two,  and  sometimes  more,  organs;  of  which 
one  is  primitive,  transitory,  provisional ;  the  other  second- 
ary, definitive,  permanent."  ^ 

Between  the  two  are  the  relations  of  function,  develop- 
ment, and  duration.  The  provisional  organ  first  supplies 
the  place  of  the  permanent  one,  then  coexists  with  it,  and 
finally  either  ceases  or  performs  incompletely.  Instances  : 
the  milk  teeth  and  down  in  the  human  species ;  the  tails  of 
tadpoles  ;  the  optic  lobes  of  the  brain,  the  thymus  gland,  etc. 
So  also  the  three  forms  of  circulation  that  succeed  each 
other  in  the  embryonic  development,^  the  first  prior  to  the 
complete  formation  of  organs  or  exercise  of  their  functions, 
the  second  known  as  the  foetal  circulation,  and  the  third 
after  the  lungs  have  entered  upon  their  function ;  each  . 
characterized  by  the  creation  of  new  vascular  systems,  and 
the  decay  of  those  that  preceded  them. 

The  result  of  all,  which  are  thus  summed  up  : 

1.  "  Everything  which  is  primitive  is  only  provisional, 
at  least  in  the  higher  animals  ;  and  everything  that  is  per- 
manent has  only  been  established  secondarily,  and  some- 
times tertiarily." 

2.  **  That,  consequently,  the  embryo  of  the  higher 
animals  successively  renews  its  organs  and  its  characteris- 
tics, through  a  series  of  metamorphoses  which  give  it 
permanent  conditions,  not  only  difterent,  but  even  directly 
contrary  to  those  which  it  had  primitively."  The  claim  is 
that  the  three  phases,  theological,  metaphysical,  and  posi- 
tive, through  which  humanity  necessarily  passes  in  its 
growth,  represent  the  primitive,  transitory,  and  permanent 
phases  of  the  organism,  and  that  the  theological  and  meta- 
physical phases  are  provisional  organs  in  the  development 
of  humanity. 


^  Lewes' 8  Condi ,  33.    '^  Ickm,  34. 
VI]  62 


490 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Another  argument  for  the  truth  of  his  system,  Comte 
derives  from  the  construction  or  necessity  of  the  human 
mind.  Although  all  knowledge  must  be  founded  on 
observation  of  facts,  yet  in  order  to  observe  some  sort  of 
theory  is  necessary,  as  mere  isolated  observation  undirected 
by  any  object  in  view,  and  unguided  by  any  theory  can 
never  be  of  any  value.  The  mind  is,  therefore,  forced  to 
theorize.  A  theory  is  necessary  to  observation,  and  a  cor- 
rect theory  to  correct  observation.^  The  first  mental  act, 
therefore,  is  theorizing,  devising  adequate  causes.  The 
cause  which  its  activity  compels  it  to  assume  it  seeks  out 
of  nature,  in  the  supernatural,  theological  region.  As  man 
is  conscious  of  self-willing,  so  he  concludes  that  everything 
else  also  wills,  and  hence  fetichisra. 

Then  comes  the  metaphysical,  which  is  the  transition 
stage,  as  the  theological  and  the  positive  are  so  far  removed 
from  each  other  as  to  require  intermediate  notions  to 
bridge  over  the  chasm.  "  In  substituting  an  entity  insepa- 
rable  from  phenomena  for  a  supernatural  agent,  through 
whose  will  these  phenomena  were  produced,  the  mind 
became  habituated  to  consider  only  the  phenomena  them- 
selves." The  metaphysical  entities,  by  gradually  fading 
away,  became  finally  lost  in  the  mere  abstract  names  of  the 
phenomena.  This  introduced  the  positive  stage,  in  which 
the  mind  having  ceased  to  interpose  either  supernatural 
agents  or  metaphysical  entities  between  the  phenomena 
and  their  production,  attended  solely  to  the  phenomena 
themselves.  These  it  reduced  to  laws,  or  rather,  express- 
ing it  according  to  Comte's  idea  of  a  law,  arranged  them 
according  to  their  invariable  relations  of  similitude  and 

succession. 

As  to  the  classification  of  the  sciences,  the  problem  he 
desired  to  solve  was :  "  how  to  arrange  the  sciences  that 
the  classification  may  itself  be  the  expression  of  the  most 
general  fact  apparent  on  a  profound  investigation  of  the 


'  Lewes' 8  Cmiite,  36, 37. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


491 


objects  which  this  classification  includes."  And  the  solu- 
tion lies  in  this  "the  dependence  of  the  sciences  can  only 
result  from  that  of  the  corresponding  phenomena." 

The  positive  philosophy  is  divided  into  five  fundamental 
sciences,  whose  succession  is  determined  by  a  necessary 
and  invariable  subordination,  based  upon  the  simple  but 
profound  comparison  of  the  corresponding  phenomena. 
These  are:  1.  Mathematics,  including  astronomy.  2. 
Physics.  3.  Chemistry.  4.  Physiology.  5.  Sociology.  It 
is  in  the  order  thus  laid  down,  that  this  philosophy  claims 
that  the  dififerent  theories  held  by  mankind  reached  suc- 
cessively,^ first,  the  theological  state,  next,  the  metaphysical 
state,  and  lastly  the  positive  state. 

Mathematics  is  the  science  of  magnitude,  the  aim  always 
being  to  determine  one  magnitude  from  another,  by  means 
of  the  exact  relations  which  exist  between  them.  This 
science  is  the  perfect  exponent  of  the  positive  philosophy. 
It  is  wholly  within  the  fold  of  positivism,  and  as  in  the  law 
of  evolution.  Comte  denies  that  each  of  the  three  periods 
had  a  separate  and  exclusive  existence,^  maintaining  on 
the  contrary,  that  the  theological,  metaphysical,  and  posi- 
tive elements  have  always  coexisted,  it  is  very  difficult  to 
conceive  what  there  is  in  the  mathematics  that  could  ever 
have  belonged  either  to  the  theological  or  the  metaphysical. 
The  positive  philosophy  itself,  so  far  as  its  essential  princi- 
ple is  concerned,  appears  to  be  little  more  than  applying 
principles  derived  from  the  mathematics  to  all  the  other 
sciences.  To  this  position  Comte  himself  gives  direet 
countenance  by  asserting,  that  "science  is  essentially 
destined  to  dispense  with  all  direct  observation,'  by 
allowing  us  to  deduce  the  greatest  possible  number  of 
results  from  the  smallest  possible  number  of  immediate 
data."  And  again  that  "mathematical  analysis  is  the 
true  and  rational  basis  of  the  complete  system  of  our 
positive  knowledge."* 


'  Leices's  Comte,  47.    '  Idem,  51.    '  Idem,  60.    *  Idem,  62. 


492 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


Astronomy  '*  has  for  its  object  the  discovery  of  the  laws 
of  the  geometrical  and  mechanical  phenomena  presented 
to  us  by  the  heavenly  bodies."  In  it  he  finds  the  three  ten- 
dencies :  theological,  metaphysical,  and  positive ;  the  first 
interpreting  all  phenomena  according  to  human  analogies ; 
the  second,  arguing  instead  of  observing ;  and  the  third, 
limiting  inquiry  to  accessible  relations  and  rejecting  as  idle 
all  speculation  which  transcends  our  means.  He  brings  to 
view  here  an  important  philosophical  law,  viz  :  "  That  in 
proportion  as  the  phenomena  to  be  studied  become  more 
complex,^  they  are,  from  their  nature,  susceptible  of  more 
extended  and  more  varied  means  of  exploration."  Or  that 
the  very  complexity  of  the  phenomena  implies  a  greater 
variety  of  sources  through  which  they  can  be  investigated. 

He  also  takes  occasion  to  analyze  the  art  of  observing 
into  three  difterent  processes : 

1.  Observation  proper,  viz  :  the  direct  examination  of 
the  phenomenon  as  naturally  presented. 

2.  Experiment,  contemplating  the  phenomena  modified 
by  circumstances  artificially  created  by  us,  with  the  view 
to  a  more  perfect  exploration.^ 

3.  Comparison,  the  gradual  consideration  of  a  series  of 
analogous  cases  in  which  the  phenomena  become  more  and 
more  simplified. 

Of  these,  astronomy  is  limited  to  the  first,  while  the 
science  of  organized  bodies,  embracing  phenomena  the 
most  difficult  of  access,  permits  the  union  of  all  three  of 
the  processes.  Of  the  difterent  fundamental  sciences  this 
is  the  only  one  which  Compte  deems  really  and  finally 
purged  of  all  theological  or  metaphysical  considerations. 

Physics  are  contradistinguished  from  chemistry  by  the 
fact  that  the  phenomena  considered  in  the  former  refer  to 
the  masses,  and  in  the  latter  to  the  molecules.  The  ulti- 
mate object  of  the  former  is  to  foresee,  as  exactly  as  possible, 
all  the  phenomena  which  may  be  presented  by  a  body 


>  Leires'a  Comte.  79.    "" Idem,  71). 


^^r-^- 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


493 


placed  in  any  given  circumstances,  excluding  always  those 
which  could  alter  its  nature. 

Wliile  astronomy  only  studies  bodies  in  reference  to  their 
forms  and  movements,  in  physics  they  are  accessible  to  all 
our  senses,  the  general  conditions  characterizing  their 
actual  existence  are  considered,  and  they  are  studied  under 
a  great  number  of  difterent  and  mutually  complicated  re- 
lations. 

Physics  admit  of  the  application  both  of  experiment  and 
mathematics  in  their  investigation.  They  may  be  said  to 
have  created  the  art  of  experiment.  In  regard  to  mathe- 
matics their  application  ought  only  to  take  place  when 
assurance  has  been  obtained  of  the  reality  of  the  physical 
facts  from  which  the  mathematical  deductions  are  to  be 
made.  It  is  in  physics  that,  for  the  last  few  centuries,  the 
struggle  of  the  positive  spirit  with  the  metaphysical  has 
been  going  on.  In  them  natural  phenomena  first  begin  to 
be  really  modifiable  by  human  intervention.  The  two 
things  to  be  had  in  view  are : 

"  1.  The  exact  and  rational  prevision  of  phenomena. 

"  2.  The  possibility  of  modifying  them,  so  as  to  promote 
our  own  ends  and  advantages." 

By  following  out  these  two  general  processes,  Comte 
proposes  to  subvert  the  theological  conception  which  sub- 
jects all  phenomena  to  supernatual  volition,^  and  hence 
renders  them  eminently  and  irregularly  variable.  The 
speculative  perfection  of  a  science  is  to  be  principally  mea- 
sured by  these  two  distinct  but  correlative  properties,  co- 
ordination, and  power  of  prevision,  the  latter  being  the 
most  decisive  criterion,  as  it  is  the  principal  object  of  every 
science. 

Chemistry  is  less  advanced  in  its  progress  and  more  want- 
ing in  positivism  than  physics.  This  is  owing  :  1.  To  its 
greater  complexity.  2.  To  the  fact  that  when  the  phe- 
nomena are  intense  in  action  they  bear  a  striking  resem- 


^  Lcma's  Comte,  102. 


494 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


495 


•a 


blance  to  those  of  life.  It  occupies  a  position  between 
physics  and  physiology,  and  is  distinguished  from  each  by 
the  general  character  of  its  phenomena.  Chemical  action 
is  something  more  than  physical,  and  less  than  vital.  It  is 
the  character  of  chemical  activity  to  produce  an  essential 
and  permanent  change  in  the  very  composition  of  the  parti- 
cles, irrespective  of  alterations  in  structure  and  state  of 
aggregation.     As  to  chemical  phenomena  it  is  noticeable  : 

1.  That  every  substance  is  susceptible  of  chemical  action, 
and  hence  its  phenomena  are  general,  while  physiological 
belong  only  to  organized  bodies. 

2.  In  order  to  their  production,  it  is  necessary  that  the 
antagonistic  particles  be  brought  into  immediate  contact. 

Under  all  these  considerations  he  defines  chemistry^  "  as 
having  for  its  general  object  the  study  of  the  laws  of  those 
phenomena  of  composition  and  decomposition  which  result 
from  the  mutual  molecular  and  specific  action  of  different 
substances,  natural  or  artificial."  The  problem  presented 
by  chemistry  is  thus  well  stated  : 

"  Given,  the  chemical  properties  of  certain  substances, 
simple  or  compound,  placed  in  chemical  relation,  under 
well  defined  circumstances,  to  determine  exactly  in  what 
their  action  will  consist,  and  what  will  be  the  principal  pro- 
perties of  the  new  products." 

Compounds  present  two  general  modes  of  classification : 

Ist.  The  simplicity,  or  greater  or  less  degree  of  composi- 
tion of  the  primary  combinations. 

2d.  The  number  of  the  combined  elements.  The  higher 
the  order  of  composition  of  substances,  the  more  difficult 
does  chemical  action  between  them  become.  Chemistry 
has  this  for  its  ultimate  object.  "  Given  the  property  of  all 
simple  substances,  to  find  those  of  all  the  compounds  which 
they  can  form."  It  illustrates  the  law  previously  stated 
« that  the  complexity  of  the  sciences,  and  their  means  of 
exploration,  increase  together." 


Chemistry,  unlike  astronomy,  and  even  physics,  levies  its 
contribution  on  all  the  senses.  Its  investigations  also  enjoy 
the  advantage  of  a  verification  by  means  of  the  double  pro- 
cess of  analysis  and  synthesis. 

Comte  draws  another  distinction  between  physics  and 
chemistry.  In  the  first  we  study  the  laws  of  motion  com- 
municated ;  in  the  last,  the  laws  of  motion  excited.  In  the 
first,  we  see  a  force  communicated  from  one  body  to  an- 
other. In  the  last,  a  force  combining  with  another  force  to 
excite  a  change  in  the  phenomena  of  both,  the  result  of 
which  is  unlike  either. 

Comte  affirms  that  chemistry  is  more  undeveloped, 
more  within  the  empire  of  the  metaphysical  stage  than 
physics.  He  cites  the  doctrine  of  affinities,  which,  although 
now  rapidly  losing  its  hold,  is  nevertheless  clearly  within 
the  metaphysical  domain.  Another  example  of  metaphy- 
sical chemistry  is  also  found  in  the  notion  of  a  catalytic 
force,  this  being  a  convenient  form  for  expressing  all  that 
we  do  not  comprehend.  In  all  these,  and  especially  in  the 
doctrine  of  affinities,  he  perceives  only  an  attempt  to  con- 
ceive the  hidden  nature  of  chemical  phenomena  which  he 
considers  as  utterly  inaccessible. 

But  if  chemistry  from  increase  of  complexity,  is  defec- 
tive in  one  of  the  attributes  tending  to  its  emancipation  from 
theology  and  metaphysics,  viz :  prevision  of  phenomena, 
he  consoles  himself  that  there  is  a  compensation  furnished 
in  another  fact,  viz  :  the  power  of  modifying  them  at  our 
pleasure ;  inasmuch  as  neither  can  coexist  with  the  idea  of 
a  government  by  providential  volitions. 

He  divides  organic  chemistry  into  two  different  parts  :  *   » 

1.  That  which  relates  to  chemistry  properly  so  called. 

2.  That  which  relates  to  physiology. 

His  rule  for  distinguishing  between  the  two  is :  "to  ex- 
amine whether  the  proposed  problem  can  be  solved  by  the 
application  of  chemical  principles  alone,  without  the  aid  of 


Lewes's  Comte,  116. 


^  Lewes' s  Comte,  133. 


496 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


497 


any  consideration  of  physiological  action  whatever."  The 
same  elements  are  common  both  to  organic  and  inorganic 
bodies,  the  differences  in  the  phenomena  are  only  owing  to 
differences  in  the  arrangement  of  these  elements.  From 
the  dawn  of  organic  life  upwards,  we  perceive  an  ascend- 
ing complexity,^  owing  primarily  to  the  greater  multiples 
of  the  elementary  equivalents.  Between  the  inorganic  and 
the  organic  there  is  mainly  a  difference  of  combination,  an 
increasing  complexity  in  the  lines  of  direction  of  force. 
Comte  denies  all  creation  in  the  organic  kingdom.  He 
consigns  to  oblivion  all  vital  forces  as  belonging  to  the 
metaphysical  era.^  He  denies  the  existence  of  any  new 
force  in  organic  action,  but  explains  such  action,  by  the 
complication  of  the  phenomena,  owing  to  the  varieties  in 
direction  of  the  one  unknown  force,  calling  it  a  new  evolu- 
tion, not  a  new  creation.  In  passing  from  inorganic  to 
organic  life  he  evolves  the  following  laws  : 

Law  I.  "  The  elements  which  compose  organic  substances 
are  the  same  as  those  which  compose  inorganic  substances  ; 
but  in  the  organic  they  occur  as  higher  multiples."  This 
has  before  been  mentioned. 

Law  n.  "  The  presence  of  higher  multiples  is  accom- 
panied by  an  indefinite  composition  in  lieu  of  a  definite 
composition,  and  by  a  characteristic  immediate  synthesis 
of  the  elements." 

Before  proceeding  to  the  third  stage,  or  final  law,  he  pro- 
poses to  reject  altogether  the  classification  of  matter  as 
organic  and  inorganic,  and  as  a  substitute  for  it,  to  consider 
matter  under  three  aspects,  viz  :  1st.  Nonorganized,  which 
he  terms  the  anorganic,  such  as  water,  salts,  minerals,  etc. 
2d.  Organizable,  partly  organized,  which  he  calls  meror- 
ganic,  being  matter  in  an  intermediate  state,  either  want- 
ing some  addition,  to  become  organized,  or  having  lost 
some  of  the  elements  it  had  when  organized,  as  the  blas- 
tema from  which  cells  are  made.     3d.  Organized,  called 


r; 


teleorganic,  in  which  the  cell,  fully  equipped,  can  and  does, 
perform  its  function.  The  passage  from  the  inorganic  to 
the  organic  is  not  direct,  but  the  anorganic  passes  into  the 
merorganic,  and  that  into  the  organic.  Crystallization 
approaches  the  phase  termed  organic,  because  we  there  first 
meet  with  definite  constituent  forms,^  the  crystal  being  con- 
ditioned upon  these  forms.  He  would  define  crystals  to 
be  arrested  life. 

He  disposes  of  the  proximate  principles  of  the  organism 
into  three  classes : 

1.  Those  of  mineral  origin  which  are  crystallizable,  and 
leave  the  organism  such  as  they  entered  it. 

2.  Those  which  are  crystallizable,  formed  in  the  organ- 
ism, and  leaving  it  in  excremental  products,  such  as  they 
were  at  their  formation. 

3.  Those  which  are  coagulable  but  not  crystallizable, 
formed  in  the  organism  with  the  aid  of  materials,  for  which 
the  first  class  serve  as  a  vehicle,  and  decomposed  in  the 
place  of  their  formation,  thus  furnishing  the  materials  for 
the  principles  of  the  second  class.  These  are  the  only  true 
organic  principles. 

The  form,  which  being  universal,^  is  indispensable  to  all 
organic  life,  is  the  cell.  This  is  the  lowest  type.  The 
second  stage  is  an  association  of  cells.  The  third  a  trans- 
formation of  those  cells  into  a  tissue.     We  now  come  to 

Law  in.  "  Merorganic  substances  become  teleorganic 
by  the  assumption  of  a  spherical  form." 

He  learns  from  Dr.  Carpenter  that  "  in  animals  as  in 
plants  all  the  parts  in  which  active  vital  changes  are  tak- 
ing place  essentially  consist  of  cells,"  ^  and  considers  that 
suflicient  evidence  exists  to  show  that  the  spherical  form  is 
a  constituent  element  of  organic  life.  He  denies  all  possi- 
bility of  knowing  the  cause  which  determines  these  higher 
multiples  to  assume  the  spherical  form.  He  regards  life 
as  an  evolution,  and  not  a  separate  creation. 


*  Lewes's  Comtt,  135.    ^  Idem,  139. 


^  Lewea's  Cmnte,  153.    "  Idem,  155.    '  Idein,  158. 


VI] 


63 


. 


498 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  —  ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


499 


In  regard  to  the  science  of  life,  biology,  lie  gives  several 
definitions  that  have  been  proposed  of  life.     As  that : 

"  Life  is  the  sum  of  the  functions  by  which  death  is  re- 
sisted."—  BichaL 

Life  is  the  result  of  organization,  metaphysical. 

"  Life  is  the  principle  of  individuation,"  or  the  power 
within  which  combines  many  qualities  into  one  individual 
thing.     And  finally  the  one  adopted  by  him  : 

"Life  is  the  twofold  internal  movement  of  composition 
and  decomposition,  at  once  general  and  continuous."  In 
the  immense  majority  of  organized  beings,  he  says,  animal 
life  is  but  a  supplement,  an  additional  series  of  phenomena, 
superposed  on  the  fundamental  organic  life.  He  asserts 
that  the  earliest  forms  of  life  are  vegetative,  and  that  to 
them  the  study  of  animal  life  must  be  subordinate,  and 
that  this  results  from  the  greater  generality  of  vegetative 
life,  and  also  from  the  fact  that  the  vegetative  life  is 
continuous,  whereas  the  functions  of  animal  life  are  inter- 
mittent. 

The  idea  of  life  presupposes  the  constant  correlation  of 
two  indispensable  elements,  the  organism  and  a  medium, 
or  the  surrounding  circumstances  essential  to  its  existence. 
Hence  he  deduces  the  formula  of  the  twofold  biological 
problem,  given  the  organ  or  the  organic  modification,  to 
find  the  function  or  the  act,  and  reciprocally. 

He  divides  all  life  into  two  grand  divisions,  vegetative  and 
animal,  or  organic  life  and  relative  life.  The  first  vital  act 
is  assimilation,  and  if  the  act  of  reproduction  be  superadded, 
it  gives  the  whole  life  of  the  cell,  which  is  the  simplest  of 
all  organisms. 

As  the  organs  are  made  up  of  tissues,  he  assumes  that 
we  must  commence  with  their  study,  and  thence  proceed 
to  the  analysis  of  the  laws  of  their  combination  into  organs, 
and  finally,  to  the  consideration  of  the  grouping  of  those 
organs  into  systems.  Of  these  tissues  the  cellular  is  the 
primary  and  essential  basis  of  every  organism,  and  the  only 
one  universally  present.     It  remains  the  sole  basis  of  the 


I 'I 


vegetable  world,  and  also  of  the  lowest  form  of  the  animal. 
This  being  the  primordial  tissue,  its  modification  produces 
others,  which  are  more  widely  separated  from  the  primary 
one  just  in  proportion  as  their  first  appearance  takes  place 
in  the  more  special  and  the  more  complex  organisms.  The 
nervous,  for  instance,  is  the  farthest  removed,^  being  absent 
from  the  vegetable  and  lower  animal  organisms,  and  found 
only  in  the  higher.  The  great  object  of  philosophical 
anatomy,  he  claims  to  be,  "to  reduce  all  the  tissues  to  one 
primordial  elementary  tissue,  from  which  they  are  deve- 
loped by  modifications  more  and  more  special  and  pro- 
found, first  of  structure  and  then  of  composition."* 

In  advancing  into  vital  dynamics,  physiology,  he  affirms 
the  division  of  vegetative  and  animal  life,  giving  to  the 
amimal  the  twofold  life-organic  and  relative,  and  gives  to 
property  the  same  physiological  relation  that  he  does  to 
tissue  anatomically,  and  claims  that  the  idea  of  function 
corresponds  with  that  of  organ,  so  that  the  notion  of  func- 
tion and  property  corresponds  with  those  of  organ  and 
tissue.     As  the  tissues  were  divided  into : 

1.  One  primordial  generative  tissue,  the  cellular  — 

2.  The  secondary  special  tissues  resulting  from  it;  so 
physiologically  the  properties  are  divided  into : 

1.  Those  which  are  general,  and  belong  to  all  the  tissues. 

2.  Those  which  are  special,  which  characterize  the  most 
distinctive  modification,  as  the  muscular  and  nervous. 

He  affirms  from  Chevreul  that :  "  There  is  an  intimate 
relation  between  the  chemical  composition  of  an  aliment 
and  the  organism  which  it  nourishes.  Hence  the  more 
complex  the  organization,  as  in  the  higher  forms  of  animal 
life,  the  more  complex  are  the  aliments  which  nourish  it." 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  the  principles  of 
Comte's  system  lead  directly  to  the  most  unmitigated  ma- 
terialism, and  hence  he  holds  that  the  convolutions  of  the 
brain  are  the  centre  of  intellectual  action,  and  that  every 


Lewes' 8  Conite,  185.    ^  Idem,  189. 


500 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


501 


idea  of  the  mind  is  associated  with  a  correspondmg  change 
in  some  part  or  parts  of  these  convohitions. 

In  his  cerebral  theory  he  adopts  in  some  respects  that  of 
Dr.  Gall,  claiming,  however,  what  many  of  the  adherents 
of  the  latter  deny,  that  the  mental  faculties  are  merely  the 
functions  of  their  several  and  respective  organs.  But 
curiously  enough  he  departs  from  the  system  of  Gall  in 
that  point  most  of  all  in  harmony  with  his  own,  viz :  the 
objective  part  of  it,  that  which  seeks  to  establish  by  means 
of  observation  of  function  and  of  form,  the  locality  of  the 
several  organs.  In  this  the  only  instance,  in  which  he 
really  founds  anything  upon  the  subjective  method,  and  in 
which  it  is  the  least  entitled  to  prevail,  he  gives  it  the 
priority,  and  seeks  to  build  up  his  sj^stem  not  objectively 
by  the  empirical  method  of  Gall,*  but  d  priori,  that  is  by 
the  consideration  of  the  mental  functions,  their  order  of 
development,  and  relative  dignity ;  seeking  to  locate  organ 
and  corresponding  function  so  as  to  bring  those  together 
that  are  similar  in  their  modes  of  manifestation.^  Thus  he 
rejects  in  Gall  what  he  and  his  followers  have  always 
claimed  to  be  the  basis  upon  which  his  doctrine  rests,  viz  : 
that  the  organs  and  faculties  are  established  by  a  long 
series  of  strict  and  rigid  observations. 

The  fifth  and  most  remote  planet  that  Comte  seeks  to 
make  revolve  around  his  central  positive  sun  is  sociology, 
under  which  term  he  includes  social  science.^  He  admits 
that  this  has  yet  to  be  created,  yet  to  get  itself  to  be  recog- 
nized as  a  possible  science;  and  yet  he  does  not  despair  of 
bringing  it  under  the  dominion  of  the  same  positive  princi- 
ples that  preside  over  mathematics  and  physics. 

Order  and  progress,  he  says,  must  form  the  basis  of  every 
real  political  system,  and  the  one  must  be  compatible  with 
the  other.  They  must  ultimately  present  themselves  as  the 
two  necessarily  inseparable  aspects  of  one  principle,  the 
one  involving  the  other.     Thus  society  is  conceived  as  an 


^Lewe&'s  Comte,  217.    '  Idem,  218,  et  seq.    'Idem,  233. 


! 


organism,  in  which  incessant  movement  accompanies  con- 
stant stability  of  form. 

The  principle  of  sociology  consists  in  conceiving  social 
phenomena  as  inevitably  subjected  to  natural  laws,  the 
peculiar  character  of  which  should  first  be  fixed.  A  dis- 
tinction must  be  drawn  between  the  study  of  the  conditions 
whereby  sociology  exists,  and  that  of  the  laws  of  its  continu- 
ous movement.     This  corresponds  with  order  and  progress. 

Two  states  of  society  present  themselves  for  investigation : 

The  first  is  the  static,  which  has  for  its  object  the  positive 
study  of  the  mutual  action  and  reaction  which  all  the  por- 
tions of  the  social  system  continually  exercise  upon  each 
other.  The  second  is  the  dynamic,  in  which  are  studied 
the  laws  of  succession,  as  contradistinguished  from  those 
of  coexistence.  The  first  presents  the  forms  of  order ;  the 
second  furnishes  the  theory  of  progress.* 

The  plan  to  be  pursued  in  the  static  state  consists  in 
examining  successively  the  three  principal  orders  of  socio- 
logical considerations,  more  and  more  complex  and  special 
by  taking  into  consideration  the  general  conditions  of 
social  existence ;  first  with  relation  to  the  individual,  then 
to  the  family,  and  finally  to  society  which,  having  attained 
its  entire  scientific  extension,  tends  to  embrace  the  totality 
of  the  human  species. 

In  reference  to  the  individual,  there  is  a  marked  predo- 
minance of  the  emotional,  or  afiective,  over  the  intellectual 
faculties ;  and  besides  this  general  ascendancy,  our  least 
elevated  instincts,  those  most  specially  egotistical,  have  a 
very  great  predominance  over  those  nobler  tendencies  di- 
rectly relative  to  sociology. 

In  the  family  is  found  the  true  social  unity,  the  different 
natures  becoming  almost  fused  into  one.  The  sociological 
theory  of  the  family  may  be  reduced  to  the  examination  of 
two  orders  of  necessary  relations,  viz  : 

1.  The  subordination  of  sex. 

2.  That  of  age. 


^  Lewes' s  Cmite,  253. 


A- 


502 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


The  first  of  these  institutes  the  family,  while  the  second 
maintains  it.  The  life  of  the  family  will  remain  the 
school  of  social  life  both  in  respect  of  obedience  and 
command. 

It  is  the  union  of  families,  not  individuals,  that  compose 
general  society.  In  this  we  find  a  high  degree  of  complica- 
tion. It  is  truly  wonderful  to  notice  "  that  regular  and  con- 
tinuous convergence  of  an  immensity  of  individuals,  each 
endowed  with  an  existence  distinct,  and  to  a  certain  degree 
independent,  and  nevertheless  all  ceaselessly  disposed,^ 
notwithstanding  the  difierences  of  their  talents  and  charac- 
ters, to  concur  by  a  multitude  of  various  means  to  one 
general  development,  without  having  in  the  least  concerted 
together,  and  most  frequently  in  active  unconsciousness,  all 
fancying  they  are  only  following  their  personal  impulses." 
Here  we  have  the  efiect  of  the  division  of  labor ;  each  in- 
dividual following  out  unrestrained  the  natural  bent  of  his 
own  inherent  prompting,  and  yet,  in  the  result,  each  uncon- 
sciously contributing  his  proportion  to  the  establishment  of 
a  social  edifice  whose  arch  spans  the  entire  surface  of  so- 
ciety. It  leads  us  to  regard,  not  only  individuals  and 
classes,  but  also  difierent  peoples,  as  participating  in  an 
immense  common  labor,  of  which  the  gradual  develop- 
ment connects  the  actual  operators  with  their  predeces- 
sors, as  well  as  with  their  successors.  Thus  considered, 
social  organization  tends  to  repose  on  an  appreciation  of 
individual  differences,  by  distributing  employments  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  place  each  in  the  position  he  can  best  fill, 
not  only  in  accordance  with  his  own  vocation,  but  also  with 
his  education  and  actual  position. 

The  gradual  subdivision  of  employments  must  establish 
an  ever  increasing  subordination  which  tends  more  and 
more  to  the  growth  of  government  out  of  the  very  heart 
of  society  itself.  This  subordination  is  not  only  material, 
but  also  moral  and  intellectual. 


Lems's  Comte,  263. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


503 


In  relation  to  the  individual,  the  family,  and  society,  the 
first,  or  individual  life,  is  characterized  by  direct  predomi- 
nance of  personal  instincts ;  domestic,  by  the  continuous 
operation  of  sympathetic  instincts,  and  social,  by  the  spe- 
cial development  of  intellectual  influences. 

In  social  dynamics  intellectual  evolution  is  the  necessarily 
predominating  principle,  and  although  our  feeble  intelli- 
gence needs  the  first  awakening  and  continuous  stimulus 
of  appetites,  passions  and  sentiments,  it  is  under  intel- 
lectual direction  that  human  progress  has  always  been 
accomplished. 

Material  development  must  follow  a  course  not  only 
analogous,  but  also  perfectly  corresponding  to  that  of 
intellectual  development.  The  primitive  tendency  of  man 
is  to  a  military  life,  and  his  final  destination  is  to  an  indus- 
trial existence.  The  primitive  races  entertained  an  anti- 
pathy for  all  regular  labor,  leaving  no  opportunity  for  the 
exercise  of  activity  except  in  the  military  life. 

The  military  regime  carried  with  it  the  individual  slavery 
of  the  producers.  By  that  means  the  warriors  were  left 
free  to  develop  their  characteristic  activity.  The  prepon- 
derance of  military  activity  was,  however,  merely  provi- 
sional, and  its  importance  constantly  decreased  as  indus- 
trial existence  was  able  gradually  to  develop  itself.  It  is 
in  social  dynamics  that  Comte  more  especially  insists  upon 
the  indispensable  succession  of  three  general  states :  the 
primarily  theological ;  and  transitorily  metaphysical;  and 
the  finally  positive ;  through  which  our  intelligence  passes 
in  all  speculations.  He  claims  that  there  is  a  natural 
afllnity  between  the  theological  and  the  military  spirit,  and 
between  the  scientific  and  the  industrial,  and  the  two 
transitory  functions  of  metaphysicians  and  lawyers. 

He  also  considers  Catholicism  and  the  feudalism  of  the 
middle  ages  as  being  both  of  a  transitory  nature,  and  as 
perishing  by  the  mere  conflict  of  their  principal  elements. 
Each  one  was  merely  provisional  in  its  character.  Protest- 
antism, or  the   right  of  private  judgment,   always,  how- 


504 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


ever,  confined  within  the  limits  of  Christian  theology,^  he 
regards  as  "  the  anarchial  spirit  of  discussion  "  which  was 
to  ruin  the  admirable  system  of  catholic  hierarchy.  The 
deism,  or  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth  century,  removed 
all  limits  to  the  right  of  private  judgment ;  but  all  endeavors 
to  restrain  metaphysical  discussion  within  the  bounds  of 
monotheism,  he  regards  as  idle. 

The  opening  of  the  fourteenth  century  marks  the  rise  of 
the  industrial  order.'^  The  first  stage  in  this  was  the 
substitution  of  serfdom  for  slavery.  This  fixed  the  culti- 
vator to  the  soil  he  tilled,  thus  laying  the  foundation  for 
families  and  social  rights.  E'ow  commenced  the  contest 
between  privileged  classes,  ascendancy  of  birth,  and  that 
wealth  which  is  acquired  by  labor.  Another  contrast 
and  contest  also  now  began  its  development  between  the 
industrial  population  and  standing  armies,  the  result  of 
the  military  spirit,  the  consequence  of  which  was  that  the 
latter  became  a  constantly  diminishing  minority.  The 
discovery  of  the  compass,  and  the  invention  of  fire-arms, 
and  of  printing,  came  in  aid  of  the  industrial  development. 
These  and  other  things  led  to  the  gradual  abolition  of  serf- 
dom, and  the  industrial  movement  became  at  last  the 
permanent  object  of  European  policy,  which  everywhere 
placed  the  military  at  its  service.^ 

The  aesthetic  development  originated  about  the  same 
time  as  the  industrial.  The  latter  consolidated  the  influ- 
ence of  the  catholic  and  feudal  manners  by  pervading 
all  classes  with  dispositions  most  favorable  to  the  action  of 
the  fine  arts.'*  Could  the  catholic  and  feudal  have  continued, 
the  aesthetic  must  have  had  a  much  larger  development, 
the  industrial  movement  being  less  favorable  to  it. 

The  scientific  development  owes  something  to  transitory 
monotheism,  as  it  began  by  patronizing  the  study  of 
nature's  marvels  in  order  to  the  more  perfect  appreciation 
of  providential  optimism. 


'  Letms's  Cmnte,  303.    "  Idem,  305.    "  Idem,  311,  312.    *  Idem,  314. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


505 


There  is  still  a  further  development,  the  philosophic, 
which  in  scholasticism  had  realized  to  its  utmost  the  social 
triumph  of  the  metaphysical  spirit,  the  profound  impotence 
of  which  was  unrecognized  during  several  ages,  from  its 
incorporation  with  the  catholic  constitution.  The  meta- 
physical philosophy  at  length  possessed  itself  of  the  spirit- 
ual authority  it  had  always  coveted,  even  among  nations 
nominally  catholic;  and  about  the  same  period  the  scien- 
tific spirit  began  to  display  itself  in  its  true  character,  "  by 
the  gradual  convergeance  of  its  spontaneous  elaboration 
towards  decisive  discoveries ;  a  character  entirely  incom- 
patible with  the  ancient  philosophy,  metaphysical  as  well 
as  theological.  In  Germany  were  Copernicus,  Tycho 
Brahe,  and  Kepler.^  In  England,  Italy,  and  France  were 
Bacon,  Galileo,  and  Descartes.  Comte  insists  that  the 
entire  evolution  of  modern  philosophy  constitutes  merely 
a  preliminary  elaboration,  the  essence  of  which  resides  in 
a  plan  for  human  regeneration. 

Thus  we  have  the  latest  phase  of  human  thought  in  the 
positive  philosophy.  In  principle  and  method  it  bears  some 
analogy  to  the  inductive  method  of  Bacon.  It  differs  from 
it,  in  that : 

1.  The  latter  admits  axioms  of  a  purely  rational  or  A 
priori  character,  which  lie  at  the  basis  of  all  inductive 
reasoning ;  the  former  denies  all  such.^ 

2.  The  latter  admits  that  its  method  is  not  applicable,  in 
the  same  sense,  to  the  higher  philosophical  questions 
generally,  as  to  physical  investigations.  It  was,  in  fact, 
designed  for  the  latter.  The  former  extends  it  to  every 
possible  species  of  human  research. 

3.  The  latter  admits  the  sphere  of  internal  consciousness, 
as  legitimately  embraced  in  its  system,  while  the  former 
strikes  its  whole  region  out  of  the  bounds  of  human  re- 
search, and  banishes  it  as  a  mere  impalpable  nonentity. 


*  Lewes's  Comte,  318.    "  MordVs  Lectures,  26. 


VI] 


64 


506 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


507 


One  of  the  great  difficulties  with  the  positive  philosophy 
is,  that,  granting  all  it  claims,  it  does  not,  and  upon  its 
own  principles  cannot,  solve  any  great  philosophical  prob- 
lems. It  avoids  them  all  either  by  excluding  them  from 
its  system,  or  by  pronouncing  them  insoluble.  While  the 
words  development,  hierarchical,  solidarity,  evolution, 
elaboration,  subordination,  coordination,  reorganization, 
and  regeneration  abound  in  it,  there  is  no  place  found  for 
such  words  as  God,  the  soul,  immortality.  The  great  in- 
ternal facts  of  man's  spiritual  nature  and  relations  with  his 
creator  are  utterly  ignored.  We  are  never  to  step  beyond 
the  region  of  outward  phenomena,  and  the  generalizations 
drawn  from  them.  It  aims  solely  at  advancing  the  ma- 
terial interests  of  humanity,  and  thus  views  things  only 
upon  their  lower  and  utilitarian  ground.  It  deals  only 
with  facts,  laws,  and  logical  processes.  It  seizes  upon 
effects  denying  their  causes ;  upon  laws  denying  the  law- 
giver ;  upon  the  order  of  nature  shutting  out  its  author. 
In  robbing  the  universe  of  its  creator  it  annihilates  that 
beauty,  splendor  and  benevolence  which  it.  reflects  of 
creative  wisdom  and  goodness. 

But  if  it  fail  in  its  exposition  of  the  loftiest  conceptions 
of  the  universe,  how  much  more  in  its  explication  of  man. 
Here  while  its  system  is  materialistic  in  all  its  tendencies, 
and  its  method  of  classifying  the  mental  faculties  is  objec- 
tive, according  to  their  objects,  yet  in  its  location  of  organs 
it  departs  from  its  great  method,  observation,  and  appeals 
to  the  relationship  of  functions  to  each  other. 

Another  formidable  objection  consists  in  its  ignoring 
all  the  great  problems  to  which  human  existence  neces- 
sarily gives  birth. 

1.  It  embraces  no  final  causes,  no  inquiry  into  the  rea- 
sons or  motives  why,  or  for  what,  a  mode  of  existence  is 
thus  and  not  otherwise. 

2.  All  questions  of  fatality  and  freedom  are  utterly  ex- 
cluded. 


i 


3.  All  questions  as  to  evil,  whether  moral  or  physical, 
are  ignored.  To  it  virtue  is  refined  selfishness,  and  reli- 
gion  weak  puerility. 

4.  The  reconciliation  of  sensualism  with  idealism,  of  the 
objective  with  the  subjective,  the  ego  with  the  non  ego,  so 
puzzling  to  almost  all  other  systems,  creates  no  difficulty 
here.  Its  sensualistic  tendencies  are  so  strong  as  to  banish 
all  such  inquiries. 

5.  All  the  puzzling  problems  of  causality,  relating  to 
cause  and  effect,  are  consigned  by  it  to  the  metaphysical 
region,  and  do  not,  therefore,  belong  to  the  positive  phi- 
losophy. 

6.  Everything  relating  to  the  absolute,  the  unconditioned, 
the  infinite,  whether  it  concern  the  possibility  of  compre- 
hending it,  or  of  connecting  it  with  the  relative,  the  condi- 
tioned or  the  finite,  is  exiled  from  the  lofty  region  of  the 
positive  philosophy  and  sent  far  back  to  the  theological 
region,  to  the  world  in  its  infancy. 

But  although  these  difficulties  are  banished  from  all 
discussion  by  the  nature  of  positivism  itself,  yet  there  are 
other  difficulties  that  are  not  so  easily  got  rid  of.  How 
can  any  system  that  admits  a  law  or  anything  equivalent  to 
it,  escape  the  absolute  ?  Take,  for  instance,  Comte's  great 
law  that  is  to  explain  the  world  problem,  viz  :  the  three  suc- 
cessive stages  through  which  humanity  is  to  pass  in  its  de- 
velopment, viz  :  the  theological,  the  metaphysical,  and  the 
positive,  on  what  does  this  depend  ?  If  upon  something 
behind  it,  and  which  gave  it  a  being,  and  annexed  to  it  its 
conditions,  then  that  something  is  the  absolute.  If  upon 
nothing,  if  there  is  no  principle,  no  mind,  no  force,  no 
power  prior  to  it,  then  the  law  is  itself  the  absolute,  and 
thus  positivism  is  compelled  to  admit  what  its  very  essence 
consists  in  denying. 

The  positive  philosophy  extends  through  six  volumes, 
and  these  being  completed,  Comte  next  attempts  to  reor- 
ganize society  on  the  basis  of  that  philosophy.  But  here 
his  own  disciples  refuse  to  follow  him.     "  I,  for  one,"  says 


508 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


K 


Lewes,  his  great  expositor,^  "  deem  these  attempts  prema- 
ture." 

"He  begins,"  says  Lewes,  "with  religion  as  the  key- 
stone of  the  social  arch ;  the  bond  which  binds  the  divers:- 
ent  tendencies  of  human  beings  into  unity,  and  which 
binds  together  the  diverse  individualities  into  society. 
Religion,  which  at  first  was  spontaneous,  next  inspired, 
then  revealed,  now  in  this  final  state  becomes  demonstrated ; 
following  thus  the  laws  of  evolution  which  have  presided 
over  science.  Eeligion  is  not  this  or  that  form  of  creed, 
but  the  harmony  proper  to  human  existence,  individual 
and  collective,  constituting  for  the  soul  a  normal  consensus 
similar  to  that  of  health  for  the  body.  It  gathers  into  its 
bosom  all  the  tendencies  of  our  nature,  active,  affectionate 
and  intelligent.  It  presides  over  politics,  art,  and  philo- 
sophy.        *        *        *         * 

"  Religion  must  subordinate  our  existence  to  an  external 
and  irresistible  power.  This  is,  in  fact,  nothing  more  than 
the  development  of  the  biological  notion  of  the  necessary 
subordination  of  an  organism  to  a  medium.     *     *     *     * 

"Humanity  is  the  great  collective  life  of  which  human 
beings  are  the  individuals ;  it  must  be  conceived  as  having 
an  existence  apart  from  human  beings,  just  as  we  conceive 
each  human  being  to  have  an  existence  apart  from,  though 
dependent  on  the  individual  cells  of  which  his  organism  is 
composed.  This  collective  life  is  in  Comte's  system  the 
etre  supreme;  the  only  one  we  can  know,  therefore  the 
only  one  we  can  worship." 

This,  Lewes  very  properly  says,  makes  religion  purely 
and  simply  what  has  hitherto  been  designated  morals. 
He  also  further  objects  that  even  upon  Comte's  own  show- 
ing, humanity  can  only  be  the  supreme  being  of  our  world ; 
it  cannot  be  the  supreme  being  of  the  universe. 

These  objections  are  obviously  well  taken,  but  unfortu- 
nately they  lie  not  against  Comte,  but^against  the  positive 


*  Lewes' 8  Comte,  339. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


509 


i 


philosophy  itself.  In  all  this  Comte  did  nothing  but 
legitimately  follow  out  the  principles  of  his  system.  The 
laws  of  logic  could  not  have  permitted  him  to  construct 
any  other  religion.  He  had  banished  God  from  his  system. 
All  the  high  and  mighty  sanctions,  therefore,  which  the 
law  maker  could  dispense,  were  to  him  as  nothing.  What 
power  could  he  invoke  higher  than  a  moral  one,  and  even 
that  has  no  higher  principle  than  the  "  harmony  proper  to 
human  existence,"  the  order  which  is  its  proper  result. 
His  disciples  here  arrive  at  a  gulf  from  which  they  recoil, 
but  it  is  one  to  which  they  are  necessarily  led  by  a  stern 
logic  from  the  first  step  taken  in  the  positive  philosophy. 

Ye  should  have  known  what  fruit  would 
Spring  from  such  a  seed. 


In  the  element  of  philosophy  we  have  now  arrived  at  the 
end  of  our  journey.  All  further  links  in  the  chain  of  the 
world's  thinking  await  the  development  of  the  future. 
There  are  few,  if  any,  outgrowths  of  our  common  humanity 
that  more  fully  proclaim  the  unity  of  the  race  than  the 
continuous  persistent  efforts  of  mind  at  its  own  explica- 
tion. "We  have  before  intimated  that  these  efforts  follow 
great  cycles  in  the  history  of  thought,  and  our  belief  is 
that  there  are  laws  at  the  foundation,  in  accordance  with 
which  all  the  developments  in  speculative  philosophy  take 
place.  The  last  cycle  we  indicated  as  being  brought  to  a 
close  by  the  skepticism  of  Hume.  His  rigorous  logic  con- 
signed to  nonentity  the  separate  efforts  of  the  rationalistic 
and  sensualistic  systems  to  establish  on  their  own  distinct 
foundations  a  superstructure  that  should  be  permanent  in 
its  character. 

Then  commenced  a  new  cycle  to  be  characterized  by  a 
different  line  of  effort ;  or  one  not  directed  to  the  building 
up  either  of  a  purely  rationalistic  or  sensualistic  system, 
but  to  the  reconciling  of  each  one  with  the  other,  and  to 


J 


r- 


510 


HISTORY  OF  CIVILIZATION. 


EUROPE  — ITS  PHILOSOPHY. 


511 


the  construction  of  a  system  that  should  embrace  both, 
and  find  in  the  proper  explanation  of  each  a  union  of  both. 
This  had  even  then  already  found  its  commencement  in 
the  monadology,  preestablished  harmony,  and  optimism  of 
Leibnitz.  This  great  thinker  laid  the  foundation  of  this 
line  of  effort,  and  although  he  framed  no  perfect  system  yet 
his  profound  suggestions  have  done  much  to  aid  all  the 
efforts  of  modern  thinkers,  so  that  Cousin  has  said  :  "  The 
more  I  advance  and  the  more  I  believe  in  philosophy,  the 
more  clearly  I  seem  to  see  into  the  mind  of  that  great 
man ;  and  all  my  progress  consists  in  understanding  him 

better."^ 

Next  we  have  the  Scottish  school  of  common  sense,  as 
expounded  by  Reid,  Stewart  and  Sir  William  Hamilton, 
characterized  by  the  same  line  of  effort. 

Then  follows  the  German  school,  the  critical  philosophy 
of  Kant,  which  came  very  near  being  successful  in  embrac- 
ing within  its  ample  range  both  the  rationalistic  and 
sensualistic  elements  in  such  a  manner  as  to  enable  them 
to  render  mutual  aid  to  each  other. 

But  these  two  elements  being  thus  distinctly  presented, 
they  were  again  seized  hold  of  by  ,new  minds,  and  each 
carried  out  into  their  full  and  perfect  development.  This 
gives  us  the  absolute  idealism  of  Fichte,and  the  pantheistic 
idealism  of  Schelling  and  Hegel  on  the  one  side,  and  on 
the   other  the   mysticism   of  Jacobi  and  the  realism   of 

Herbart. 

This  leads  naturally  to  the  eclecticism  of  Cousin,  in  which 
all  the  truth  contained  in  all  the  philosophies  is  sought  to 
be  embodied,  while  all  the  error  is  rejected.  This  would 
naturally  complete  another  cycle,  in  which  although  the 
conclusions  arrived  at  are  far  from  being  satisfactory  to 
all  minds,  yet  when  contrasted  with  the  results  attained 
at  the  termination  of  the  previous  cycle,  the  gain  will  be 
perceived  to  be  immense. 


I. 


Lastly  comes  the  positive  philosophy,  which  may  be  the 
commencement  of  a  new  cycle,  destined  to  be  yet  more 
comprehensive  in  its  sweep,  and,  at  its  termination,  to 
plant  the  human  mind  with  the  results  of  its  profound 
speculations,  on  a  foundation  at  once  satisfactory  and  per- 
manent. 

But  as  it  now  stands  the  great  mind  and  world  problem 
is  yet  unsolved,  and  to  the  philosopher  who  is  ever  busily 
employed  in  seeking  its  solution,  may  be  appropriately 
applied  the  following  beautiful  passage  from  Hegel  in 
reference  to  Jacobi : 

"  He  is  like  a  solitary  thinker,  who  in  the  morning  of  his 
day  has  found  a  very  ancient  riddle  hewn  upon  an  eternal 
rock.  He  believes  in  this  riddle,  but  endeavors  in  vain  to 
interpret  it.  He  carries  it  about  with  him  the  whole  day,  he 
elicits  from  it  meanings  full  of  importance,  which  he  moulds 
into  doctrines  and  images  that  delight  the  hearer,  and  in- 
spire him  with  noble  wishes  and  hopes ;  but  the  interpre- 
tation fails,  and  he  lays  him  down  at  even  with  the  hope 
that  some  divine  dream,  on  the  next  waking,  will  pro- 
nounce to  him  the  word  for  which  he  longs,  and  in  which 
he  has  so  firmly  believed." 


'MoreU,G5n. 


INDEX. 


Abelard,  Peter,  character  and  philo- 
sophy, 243. 

Accomplishments  of  the  superior 
people  of  France,  150. 

Adour  valley,  character  of  its  peo- 
ple, 131. 

Adulteiy,  how  punished  by  the  An- 
glo-Saxons and  Danes  in  Eng- 
land, 209;  rare,  nd  severely 
punished  among  the  Germanic 
tribes,  IG. 

Agincourt,  arrows  used  at  the  battle 
of,  220. 

Agriculture  in  Gennany,  beneficial 
results  of  the  elevation  of  serfs 
in,  120 ;  taught  as  a  science,  121 ; 
societies  formed  for  improve- 
ment in,  121 ;  in  France,  136 ; 
character  of  those  pursuing  it, 
136. 

Albigenses,  crusade  against,  destroys 
the  troubadours,  79. 

Alcuinus,  239. 

Alexandrian  library,  256. 

Allophilian  race,  the,  in  France,  132. 

Amorous  court,  how"  officered,  78. 

Amusements  among  the  young  in 
Germany,  126. 
in  France,  160. 
in  Lapland,  182. 
inRussia,  31,32,  33,  34. 
in  Switzerland,  110. 
of  the  English  people,  216-234. 

Andalusians,  character  of,  84. 

Anglo-Norman  dress,  202 ;  costume, 
201;  dwellings,  198;  marriage 
VI]  65 


Anglo-Norman,  continued  — 

ceremonies,  209;  superstitions, 
209. 

Anne,  costumes  in  England  during 
her  reign,  206. 

Anne  of  Austria,  146. 

Appearance  of  the  Russians,  24. 

Apple-bee,  the,  in  Germany,  125. 

Apprenticeship  in  Germany,  118. 

Arabs  invade  Spain,  82,  83;  influ- 
ence upon  Spanish  society,  83 ; 
driven  out,  83 ;  in  Spain,  influ- 
ence of,  upon  philosophy,  244. 

Archery  in  England,  219. 

Architecture  in  England,  199. 
Gothic,  199. 

Aristotle,  241. 

Armor  bearer,  the,  candidate  for 
knighthood,  60. 

Arms,  privilege  of  bearing,  how  ac- 
corded by  the  early  German 
nations,  55. 

Army  in  Russia,  how  recruited,  21. 

Arragonese,  character  of,  84. 

Aristocracy  in  England,  196;  in 
Germany,  condition  of  after  the 
abolition  of  serfdom,  116. 

Arsenic  eating  in  Austria,  etc.,  habit, 
object,  and  effects  of,  129, 130. 

Art  modifies  society,  9. 

Aspasia,  Grecian  period  of,  repro- 
duced in  France,  163. 

Astronomy  in  Comte's  philosophy, 
492. 

Austria  and  Styria,  arsenic  eating  in, 
129. 


614 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


515 


Auvergne,  character  of  its  people, 
131. 

Baal,  fragments  of  tlie  worship  of, 
seen  in  England  and  Ireland, 

Bacon,  Francis,  211.  385;  dates  of, 
274 :  merit  of,  281 ;  labors  of,  281. 
Roger,  see  Roger  Bacon. 

Baconian  philosophy,  object  of,  277  ; 
problems  of,  277,  278,  279 ; 
difficulty  of,  279;  prerogative 
instances  in,  279;  analogy  in, 
280;  method  of,  as  stated  by 
Fischer,  281 ;  its  relation  of 
metaphysics  to  natural  theo- 
logy, 283 ;  incapable  of  explain- 
ing religion,  281 ;  demanded  by 
its  age,  284;  successful,  285; 
effect  of,  upon  inventions  and 
discoveries,  285;  narrow,  par- 
tial, and  unilateral,  28G ;  deve- 
lopments of,  287 ;  results  of,  287  ; 
growths  of,  303. 

Bacon's  idea  of  the  soul,  283 ;  of  the 
mind,  283;  method,  275,  27G; 
aphorisms,  275,  270;  idols  that 
had  retarded  science,  270. 

Ball  playing  in  England,  222. 

room  in  Germany,  freedom  of, 
120. 127. 

Barrow  burial,  traces  of,  where  seen, 

18. 

Bathing  in  Finland,  180. 
Baths  in  Russia,  29 ;  public,  30. 

in  the  Seine,  100. 

Turkish,  38. 
Beggars  in  Paris,  150. 

in  Spain,  91. 
Beltane  orBeltein,  ceremonies  of,  in 
Scotland,  232. 

in  Ireland,  233. 
Berengers,  courts  of  the,  influence 

of,  74. 


Berkeley,  George,  dates  and  philo- 
sophy of,  312. 

Berne,  streets  of,  110. 

peculiar  custom  in,  111. 

Betrothals  in  Norway,  170. 

Bible,  the,  opened  to  the  people  in 
England  by  Henry  VIII,  213. 

Billiards  in  England,  227. 

Biology,  or  science  of  life  in  Comte's 
philosophy,  498. 

Biran,  M.  ^Maiue  de,  philosophy  of, 


Biscayans,  appearance  and  character 

of,  84. 
Board  jumping  in  Russia,  34. 
Bohme,  Jacob,  dates  and  philosophy 

of,  209. 
Bologna,  philosophical  school  of,  204. 
Bona  Ventura,  dates  and  philosophy 

of,  245. 
Boulevards  of  Paris,  159. 
Bourbon  dynasty  in  France  effects 
a  change,  132. 

house  of,   position  of  women 
under,  145. 
Bowling  in  England,  225. 
Boxing  matches  in  Russia,  32. 
Boy  bishop,  game  of,  229. 
British  isles,  great  barrier  to  uni- 
formity in  manners  and  cus- 
toms in,  189. 

races  of,  189, 190,  etc. 
Britons,  ancient,  dwellings  of,  197. 

ancient  hospitality  and  customs 

of,  207;  dress  ot,  201. 
Brittany,  character  of  its  inhabitants, 

130. 
Brown,  Thomas,  philosophy  of,  348. 
Bruno,  Giordano,  dates  and  philo- 
sophy of,  202. 
Brunswick,  curious  superstition  in, 

121. 
Buildings,  character  of,  among  the 

Germanic  tribes,  13. 


Bull  baiting  and  running  in  Eng- 
land, 220. 
fight  in  Spain,  92. 
Burial  among  the  ancient  Britons, 
207. 
of  the  dead  among  the  Germanic 

tribes,  18. 
service  in  Russia,  28. 


Cabanis,  Pierre  Jean  Georges,  dates 
and  philosophy  of,  309. 

Cafe  in  France,  104. 

Cagots,  people,  where,  80 ;  appear- 
ance, 80  ;  proscribed,  81 ;  origin 
uncertain,  81. 

Campanella,  Thomas,  dates  and 
jihilosophy  of,  205. 

Cape  of  Good  Hope,  passage  around 
discovered,  255. 

Cards,  game  of,  227. 

Carnival  in  Venice,  99  ;  in  Italy,  103 ; 
in  Rome,  103 ;  disguises  worn, 
103  ;  horse  races  in,  103. 

Caste  in  Russia,  22. 

Castilians,  appearance  of,  84. 

Castle,  the,  becomes  a  court,  50; 
officers  of,  50;  the  feudal,  47; 
the  home,  48. 

Catalonians,  appearance  and  charac- 
ter of,  84. 

Cavaliers  in  England,  character  of, 
213. 

Celibacy  disgraceful  in  the  Germanic 
tribes,  15. 

Celtiberian  customs,  83 ;  marriages, 
83 ;  women,  dress  of,  83. 

Celtiberians  punish  corpulency,  83 ; 
in  the  Spanish  peninsula,  82. 

Celtic  race,  see  Scandinavians,  11, 
12;  in  the  British  isles  retain 
some  fragments  of  Baal  worship, 
232,  233 ;  in  France,  132 ;  where 
settled,  189. 


Celts  in  the  Spanish  penmsula,  82. 
Cerdagne  and   Roussillon,  customs 

of  linking  mediaeval  to  modern 

times,  80. 
Cerebral  theory  of  Comte,  500. 
Champagne,  manners  of  its  people, 

131. 
Character  of  the  15th  and  10th  cen- 
turies, 255,    250;    important 
events  of,  255. 

of  the  people  in  Rome,  104. 
Charlemagne,    239;    dubs    his    son 

Louis  le  Debonaire  knight,  58. 
Charles  I,  costume  of  the  cavahers 

in  his  reign,  205. 
Charles  II,  costumes    duiiug    his 

reign,  205. 
Charles  VI,  77. 
Charles  VII,  of  France,  drives  out 

the  English,  132. 
Chartres,  Amaury  de,  pantheism  of 

244. 
Chase,  the,   among  the   Germanic 

tribes,  13. 
Chaucer,  211. 
Chemistry  in  Comte's  philosophy, 

493;  organic,  how  divided  by 

Comte,  495. 
Chess,  game  of,  227. 
Chester  races,  219. 
Chevreuse,   Madame  de,  character 

of,  102, 103. 
Children,   education  of,  under  the 
feudal  system,  49,  50. 

how  reared  among  the  Ger- 
manic tribes,  10 ;  how  reared 
in  Russia,  34 ;  societies  formed 
for  in  Geneva,  107. 

in  Norway,  177. 
Chimneys,   when  introduced    into 

England,  198. 
Chivalry,  age  and  beauty  of,  05  ;  ad- 
vanced by  religion,  05;  stimu- 
lated   by    the    opportunity  of 


516 


INDEX. 


Chivalry,  continued  — 

redressing  wrong,  05 ;  dark  side 
of,  67 ;  age  of,  dissolute,  67 ;  licen- 
tiousness of,  67  ;  in  France,  144 ; 
its  legacy  to  France,  144 ;  final 
abuse  of,  in  France,  144,  145 ;  in- 
fluenced by  religion,  poetry,ctc., 
59;  by  society,  59  ;  characteris- 
tics of,  59 ;  accessibility  of,  59 ; 
left  a  worthy  successor  in  the 
gentleman,  71 ;  origin  of,  55,  56 ; 
its  home,  55,  50;  immediate 
origin  of,  56 ;  and  poetry  in- 
separably connected  in  the  Pro- 
vencal, 76. 

Christmas,  celebration  of  in  Nor- 
way, 178 ;  holidays,  how  observ- 
ed in  Europe  from  the  11th  to 
the  16th  centuries,  67. 

Church  ales,  the,  pastime  of,  in  Eng- 
land, 230. 

Cisisbeism  in  Italy,  105 ;  most  pre- 
valent in  Genoa,  106. 

Citizens  of  German  cities,  two 
classes,  122,  123. 

CiviUzation,  European,  in  great  fer- 
mentation during  11th,  12th, 
and  13th  centuries,  75. 

Classes  of  peoples  in  Russia,  21. 

Clergy  in  Rome,  104. 

Climate,    indirect    influence    upon 

man,  5  ;  in  regard  to  work,  5  ; 

modifies    society,    4;    direct 

influence  upon  man,  4. 

of  Russia,  modity  its  society,  22. 

Clothing,  worn  by  the  Germanic 
tribes,  14 ;  of  the  common  Rus- 
sians, 35. 

Club-rooms  in  Germany,  cfl'ccts  of, 
127. 

Cock-fighting  in  England,  226. 

CoUard,  Peter  Paul  Roger,  philo- 
sophy of,  466. 


Combe,  George,  dates  and  philo- 
sophy, or  phrenology  of,  371. 

Common  sense  philosophy,  347. 

Comte,  Auguste,  dates  and  philo- 
sophy of,  484,  509;  essence  of 
his  philosophy,  484 ;  metliod  of, 
485  ;  hypotheses,  how  classified 
in  his  system,  485 ;  initial  con- 
ceptions upon  which  his  pliilo- 
sophy  rests,  486;  theological 
phase  and  stages  in  his  system, 
486,  487 ;  as  to  classification  of 
the  sciences,  490;  mathematics 
in  his  system,  491;  astronomy 
in  his  system,  492;  physics  in 
his  system,  492;  clieniistry  in 
his  system,  493;  organic  che- 
mistry, how  divided  in  his  sys- 
tem, 495 ;  laws  of  organic  life  in 
his  system,  496;  matter,  how 
considered  in  liis  system,  496; 
life  definitions  and  science  of, 
498;  physiology  in  his  system, 
499 ;  unmitigated  materiaUsm 
of,  499  ;  cerebral  theory  of,  500  ; 
sociology  of,  500;  differs  from 
Bacon's  system,  505 ;  difficulties 
of  his  system,  506 ;  religion  in 
his  system,  508;  positivism  of, 
a  transition  from  the  schools 
originated  by  tlie  critical  philo- 
sophy, 311. 

Condillac,  Etienne  de,  dates  and 
philosophy  of,  305. 

Confirmation,  imi)ortance  of,  in  Ger- 
many, 127. 

Conrad  the  Pacific,  74. 

Constantinople,  captural  by  the 
Turks,  36;  conquest  of,  255; 
the  treasury  of  literature,  255, 
256. 

Copenhagen,  one  hundred  years  be- 
hind London  in  progress,  168. 


INDEX. 


617 


Cortegos,  Spanish,  89. 

Costume  in  Russia,  variety  of,  28; 
Turkisli,  38. 

Costumes  in  England,  see  dress,  201, 
207;  absurdity  of  in  the  15th 
century,  203. 
in  Switzerland,  110. 

Court  of  the  Bourbons  in  France, 
corrupt,  139. 
life  and  etiquette  in  Germany, 

118. 
of  Louis  XIV,  146. 
of  Sweden  formal,  171. 

Courts  of  love,  see  Tribunals,  76. 

Courtsliip  among  the  ancient  Bri- 
tons, 208. 

Cousin,  Victor,  dates  and  philosophy 
of,  467-484;  way  prepared  for 
him,  466 ;  method  of,  468 ;  psy- 
chology of,  469 ;  his  idea  of  the 
will,  470;  idea  of  the  reason, 
471 ;  doctrine  of  categories,  475 ; 
470;  plienomena  of  sensation, 
478 ;  a  species  of  ideaUst,  478 ; 
idea  of  ontology,  479;  appre- 
hension of  the  infinite,  481 ;  en- 
deavors to  avoid  pantheism, 
481 ;  in  regard  to  the  mind 
comprehending  the  absolute 
and  unconditioned,  482  ;  merit 
of  his  system,  483 ;  objec- 
tions made  against  his  system, 
483. 

Crequy,  Madame  de,  testimony 
of,  against  the  old  French  no- 
biUty,  140. 

Cricket  in  England,  223. 

Critical  philosophy,  a  rebound  from 
the  scepticism  of  Hume,  383 ; 
exponent  of,  383. 

Crusades,  255. 

Curfew  bell,  tolling  of,  210. 

Custom,  curious,  in  WestphaUa  and 
Oldenburg,  126. 


Customs  and  habits  in  Germany, 
influenced  by  mdustrial  pur- 
suits, 123. 

in  Turkey  compared  with  those 
in  Europe,  40,  41. 

of  NorAvay,  resemblance  to  early 
English,  175. 

of  the  ancient  Britons,  207. 

of  the  ancient  Iberians  and  Lu- 
sitanians,  83. 

of  the  Celtiberians,  83. 


Daily  round  of  duties  among  the 
Germanic  tribes,  17. 

Dance  in  Russia,  representmg  court- 
ship, 33. 

Dances,  kinds  of,  in  England,  224, 
225. 
national,  of  Norway,  175. 

Dancing  in  Finland,  188. 

Danes,  the,  behind  the  world  in 
progress,  168 ;  classes  of,  167 ; 
personal  appearance  of,  167; 
nobility  among,  167 ;  character 
of,  168;  extravagance  of,  168; 
in  England,  191. 

Danish  extravagance,  manifested  in 
burials  and  monuments,  168; 
marriage  ceremonies  in  Eng- 
land, 209. 

Darwin,  Erasmus,  dates  and  philo- 
sophy of,  304. 

Dead,  the,  how  cared  for  in  Russia, 
27. 

Death  call,  superstition  of,  in  Ger- 
many, 123. 

Debtor's  asylums  in  Rome,  104. 

Delorme,  Marion,  163. 
TDescartes,  Rene,  dates  and  philoso- 
phy of,  317,  325,  384, 385. 

De  Villars,  147. 

Dice,  game  of, whence  originated  and 
where  engaged  in,  227. 


518 


INDEX. 


Dinant,  David  de,  pantheism  of,  244. 
Dinner  among  the  Norman  barons 

in  England,  210 ;  service  of  in 

Turkey,  40. 
Doge,  the,  of  Venice,  marriage  of  to 

the  Adriatic,  98. 
Domestic  happiness  and  virtues  in 

Switzerland,  109 ;   unhappiness 

in  Spain,  89. 
Don  Quixote,  last  of   the  knight- 

errants,  70. 
Dordogne  valley,  character    of  its 

people,  131. 
Draughts,  game  of,  227. 
Dress  in  England,  201-207;  of  the 

peasants  in  Russia,  28;  of  the 

women,  29. 
Duellings  in  Switzerland,  110 ;  of  the 

wealthy  under  the  Tudor  dy- 
nasty in  England,  200. 


Easter  week  in  Russia,  amusements 
of,  31, 32. 

Eclecticism,  465-484. 

Education  in  Russia,  limited,  21. 

Edward  III,  226. 

EUzabeth,  female  costumes  in  her 
reign,  204 ;  houses  of  the  Avealthy 
during  her  reign,  200. 

England,  contest  of  races  in,  190; 
aristocracy  in,  196 ;  primogeni- 
ture in,  195 ;  houses  in,  197, 201 ; 
dress  in,  201-207;  minstrels  in, 
208 ;  advancement  of  arts  and 
science,  during  the  14th  century, 
211 ;  mode  of  living  in,  during 
the  15th  centur>^  211 ;  formality 
of  manners  in  the  16th  century, 
212;   gluttony  in,  212;   hospi- 
tality in,  during  tlie  15th  cen- 
tury, 212;  morahty  in,  during 
the  17th    century,  213;   social 
habits  and  customs  in,  207-216 ; 


England,  continued  — 

lumting  in,  210-218;  hawking; 
in,  218;  horse-racing  in,  219; 
archery  in,  219 ;  use  of  shng  and 
spear  in,  220;  pitching  quoits 
in,  221;  foot-racing  in,  221; 
wrestling  in,  221;  sports  of, 
210-234;  swimming  in,  221; 
ball  playing  in,  222 ;  hurling  in, 
222;  pall  mall,  play  of,  in,  223  ; 
cricket  in,  223 ;  jousts  and  tour- 
naments in,  224  ;  dancing  in,  224. 

Englisli  character,  how  formed,  192  ; 
and  French  life  contrasted,  150 ; 
people,  pastimes,  sports  and 
amusements  of,  216-234 ;  philo- 
sophy, 194;  traits  of  character 
of,  193-197;  personal  appear- 
ance of,  193 ;  common  sense  of 
194 ;  poetry  of,  194. 

Englishman,  the,  a  thorough  utili- 
tarian,  194 ;  the  truth-loving  and 
honest,  195. 

Estremadurans,  appearance  and  cha- 
racter of,  84. 

Eugena,  239. 


INDEX. 


519 


Fairs  in  England,  sports  of,  229;  in 
Germany,  121 ;  great  in  Leipsic, 
Brunswick  and  Frankfort,  121. 

Family,  the,  the  elementaiy  state  of 
society,  9;  in  Russia,  20. 

Fashion  in  Paris,  165. 

Festival  of  fools,  229 ;  of  the  resur- 
rection, how  celebrated  in  Rus- 
sia, 28. 

Festivity  among  the  Germans,  126. 

Fetichism,  487,  488,  490. 

Feudalism,  growth  of,  45,  46,  47; 
remains  of,  in  Germany,  114; 
influence  upon  society  in  Ger- 
many, 114;  social  results  of,  50- 
55. 


Fichte,  Johann  Gottleib,  dates  and 
philosophy  of,  400-414;  his 
philosophy  as  first  promulgated 
400 ;  did  not  in  terms  deny  the 
reality  of  the  external  world, 
401;  his  position  on  the  reality 
of  the  external  world,  401 ;  the 
non  ego  of,  403;  desire  of  to 
furnish  a  doctrine  of  science, 
404 ;  fundamental  laws  of  think- 
ing, according  to,  405 ;  his  sys- 
tem, practical  aspect  of,  400; 
theory  of  rights  derived,  407; 
idea  of  God,  according  to,  409; 
later  philosophy  of,  410 ;  stages 
or  periods  of  his  philosophy  of 
destruction,  413 ;  brief  summary 
of  his  system,  431. 

Fidelity,  habit  of,  due  to  feudalism, 
54. 

Finland,  people  of,  179. 

Finns,  personal  appearance  of,  184; 
origin  of,  184;  dress  of,  184; 
occupations  of,  185;  social  habits 
of,  185 ;  courtship  of,  185 ;  mar- 
riage customs  of,  186 ;  baths  of, 
186. 

Fischer's  statement  of  the  Baconian 
method  of  philosophy,  281. 

Florence,  academy  of,  by  whom  and 
when  founded,  262. 

Food,  character  of,  among  the  Ger- 
manic tribes,  13. 

Foot-racing  in  the  middle  ages,  221. 

France  divided  in  the  middle  ages 
by  the  Loire,  73;  two  distinct 
dialects  during  that  time,  73 ; 
character  of  its  different  peo- 
ples, 130,  131 ;  origin  of  this 
diversity,  131 ;  origin  of  its 
name,  131 ;  races  in,  131 ;  north- 
ern Flemish  customs  prevail, 
131;  revolutions  in,  by  whom 
brought  about,  135  ;  population 


France,  continued  — 

» proportion  engaged  in  agricul- 
ture, 136;  lands  how  owned, 
136,  137;  noblesse  in,  137; 
abohshed,  137,  138;  number 
who  perished  under  the  guillo- 
tine, 138;  present  ranks  of  no- 
bility in,  138  ;  nobility  of,  150  ; 
early  training  of  the  young  in, 
152 ;  relation  of  the  individual 
to  the  government  in,  154 ;  or- 
ganized benevolence  of,  156  ; 
suicides  in,  158  ;  restaurants  in, 
159. 

Francis  I,  introduced  into  the 
French  court  the  ideas  of  chi- 
valry, 144. 

Frederic  Barbarossa,  invites  Pro- 
vencal knights  to  his  court,  75. 

French  people,  descended  from, 
130;  character,  not  homogene- 
ous, 133 ;  peasantry,  no  know- 
ledge among,  133 ;  character  of, 
134 ;  ideas  and  mode  of  thinking 
by  whom  supported,  135 ;  cha- 
racter, is  there  such  a  thing? 
141 ;  what  it  is,  141 ;  description 
of,  142 ;  by  what  monarchs  best 
understood,  142;  society  influ- 
enced by,  144,  145 ;  revolution, 
connection  of,  with  the  previous 
depravity  of  society,  149;  per- 
sonal appearance  of,  150;  wo- 
men, 150 ;  superior  people  in, 
accomplished,  150;  life  con- 
trasted with  the  English,  150 ; 
live  in  the  open  air,  and  in 
restaurants,  159 ;  character,  levi- 
ty of,  165. 

Fronde,  times  of  the,  146. 

Frozen  provisions  in  Russia  markets, 
31. 

Funeral  rites,  among  the  Germanic 
tribes,  17. 


mmi 


520 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


521 


Funerals  in  Germany,  128;  pall 
bearers  at,  128 ;  hired  mourners 
at,  128 ;  peculiar  customs  of,  in 
northern  Prussia,  128 ;  in  Lap- 
land, 183 ;  in  Spain,  91. 

Furniture  of  the  Russian  peasantry, 
29. 

Future  state,  belief  of,  among  al- 
most all  nations  evinced  by 
their  modes  of  burying,  18, 19. 


Gall,  Francis  Joseph,  dates  and  phi- 
losophy, or  phrenology  of,  3G9. 

Gallicians,  appearance  and  charac- 
ter of,  84 

Gallo-Roman  population,  mode  of 
living,  45 ;  conquered  by  the 
Germans,  45. 

Game  laws  in  England,  oppressive, 
217. 

Games  of  chance  among  the  Ger- 
manic tribes,  13  ;  prohibited  in 
Switzerland,  110. 

Garonne  valley,  character  of  its 
people,  131. 

Gascony,  see  Provence,  73 ;  character 
of  its  people,  131. 

Geneva,  canton  of,  people,  107 ;  city 
of,  107;  education  in,  107;  soci- 
eties for  children  in,  107. 

Gentleman,  the,  during  the  16th 
and  17th  centuries  succeeds  the 
knight,  71. 

Georges,  the,  costumes  in  England 
during  their  reigns,  206. 

German  tribes,  war  on  laud,  12; 
prodigal  of  life,  12 ;  amuse- 
ments, occupations,  etc.,  that 
of  war,  12 ;  war  illustrates  the 
extension  of  society,  10 ;  ladies, 
113 ;  school  of  philosophy  383 ; 
brief  review  of,  463. 


Germanic  race,  sec  Scandinavian,  11, 
12. 

Germans  conquer  the  Roman  pro- 
vinces and  adopt  their  mode  of 
living,  45,  46 ;  modern  intellect- 
ual character,  113  ;  moral  cha- 
racter, 114;  general  character, 
113  ;  smokers,  113  common  peo- 
ple, character  of,  114 ;  merchants, 
character  of,  114;  nobility,  cha- 
racter, 114 ;  superstitions  of,  123 ; 
attached  to  festivity,  126. 

Germany,  no  unity  in,  112;  liberty 
in,  112;  society  in,  111-130; 
free  cities  of,  112  ;  political  divi- 
sions of,  114;  nobility  in,  114; 
remains  of  feudal  system  in,  114 ; 
serfdom  in,  115 ;  serfdom  in, 
steps  of  its  abolition,  115 ;  effects 
of  the  abolition  of  serfdom  in, 
116 ;  condition  of  the  aristo- 
cracy in  after  the  abolition  of  the 
serfs,  116;  society  in,  but  little 
attccted  by  the  abolition  of  the 
serfs,  116;  taxation  in,  116,  117 
effect  upon  the  peasantry,  117 
social  life  in,  how  divided,  118 
court  life  in,  118 ;  guilds  in,  118 
agriculture  in,  benefited  by  the 
abolition  of  serfdom,  120;  same- 
ness in  houses  and  household 
articles  accounted  for,  120 ;  dis- 
tinctions of  rank  in,  122 ;  grades, 
122 ;  citizens,  classes  of,  122, 
123;  influence  of  industrial  pur- 
suits upon  society,  123 ;  vine- 
yards in,  123 ;  churchyards  hung 
with  wreaths,  128. 

Gerson,  dates  and  philosophy  of,  252. 

Girls  in  Italy,  employment  of  in 
youth,  100. 

Glacis,  Switzerland,  ancient  manners 
and  houses,  108. 

Glutton-masses  in  England,  211. 


t 

J 


Gluttony  in  England  during  the 
16tli  century,  212. 

God,  existence  of,  as  demonstrated 
by  Thomas  Aquinas,  247 ;  idea 
of,  according  to  Fichte,  409. 

Goitre  in  Switzerland,  111. 

Gothic  race,  power  of,  in  Spain,  82. 

Government  moditles  society  by  the 
greater  or  less  degree  of  freedom 
enjoyed,  8;  by  its  capital  and 
court,  8. 

Grape  cure  in  Germany,  125. 

Great  Russia,  uniformity  of  lan- 
guage, manners  and  customs  in, 
19. 

Grignans,  the,  147. 

Grostete,  211. 

Guienne,  see  Provence,  73. 

Guilds  in  Germany,  funds  of  how 
approi)riated,  110 ;  members  of, 
associate  together,  119;  bad 
effects  of,  120;  rules  of,  118; 
kinds  of,  119. 

Guillotine,  victims  of,  138. 

Gunpowder  in  England,  211. 

Guyenne,  character  of  its  people, 
131. 


Hamilton,  Sir  William,  divisional 
charts  of  his  philosophy,  352, 
356;  philosophy  of;  347-368. 

Hartley,  David,  dates  and  philoso- 
phy of,  304. 

Harvest  home,  feast  of,  231. 

Hawking  in  England,  218. 

Hegel,  George  William  Frederick, 
dates  and  philosophy  of,  430- 
449 ;  undertaking  and  endeavor 
of,  430 ;  starting  point  of,  431 ; 
his  conception  of  the  laws  of 
thought,  432;  stand  point  of, 
433 ;  division  of  his  philosophy, 
434;    position  of  logic  in    his 

VI]  66 


Hegel,  continued  — 

system,  434 ;  division  of  logic 
in  his  system,  435;  his  view  of 
the  doctrine  of  being,  435 ;  his 
view  of  the  doctrine  of  essences, 
437  ;  his  view  of  the  doctrine  of 
thought,  438 ;  his  view  of  the 
doctrine  of  conception  or  notion 
438;  march  or  evolution  of  his 
logic  in  its  triadical  projections, 
439;  his  philosophy  of  nature, 
440;  accounts  for  the  existence 
of  nature,  440;  his  pantheism 
different  from  that  of  Schelling, 
440;  stages  of  his  philosophy  of 
nature,  441 ;  his  philosophy  of 
mind,  443. 

Helvetii,  the  primitive  inhabitants  of 
Switzerland,  106  ;  sprung  from, 
107. 

Helvetius,  Claude  Adrian,  dates  and 
philosopliy  of,  300. 

Henry  IV,  effects  a  great  change  in 
France,  132 ;  not  controlled  by 
his  mistresses,145. 

Henry  VIII,  226;  costumes  in  his 
reign  204  ;  gives  the  Bible  to  the 
people  in  the  church,  213. 

He[)tarcliy  of  England,  characterized 
by,  190. 

Ilerbart  defends  realism,  453 ;  John 
Frederick,  dates  and  philosophy 
of,  453-463 ;  idea  of  absolute  ex- 
istence, 455;  threefold  division 
of  his  philosophical  system, 
456;  metaphysics  of,  456;  seat 
of  the  soul  according  to,  463. 

Hidalgo,  derivation  of  the  title,  82. 

Hobbes,  Thomas,  dates  of,  287;  sup- 
plements Bacon,  287 ;  philoso- 
phy of,  287 ;  sole  object  of  his 
philosophy,  291 ;  the  father  of 
the  materialistic  systems  of 
France,  293. 


1     I     H      Ml^ 


J       ,   m 


OmS 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


523 


Holbach,  Baron  Paul  H.  D.  Von, 
dates  and  philosophy  of,  307. 

Home  affections  limited  but  intense 
under  the  feudal  system,  48,  49 ; 
in  France,  154. 

Homes  in  Turkey,  40. 

Horse  racing  in  Russia,  32 ;  in  Eng- 
land, 219;  degenerated  into  a 
system  of  gambling,  219. 

Hospitality  of  the  Germanic  tribes, 
13 ;  among  the  Germanic  tribes, 
16. 

House  markets  in  Russia,  30. 

raising  in  Germany,  festivities 
of,  126. 

Household  manners  in  Norway, 
177. 

Houses  in  England,  early  and  later, 
197,201;  in  London,  198;  in 
Paris,  construction  of,  158;  of 
the  peasantry  in  Russia,  29. 

Hume,  David,  dates  and  philosophy 
of,  332;  epitaph  of,  334;  his 
system  the  termination  of  one 
cycle  in  the  history  of  philoso- 
phy, 338. 

Hunting  in  England,  216,218;  ani- 
mals pursued,  217 ;  dogs  trained 
for,  217;  methods  of,  217; 
moral  effect  upon  English  cha- 
racter, 218;  in  general,  216; 
reduced  to  a  system  by  the 
Normans,  216. 


Iberians  in  the  Spanish  peninsula, 

82. 
Ice  hills  in  Russia,  sliding  down, 

83. 
Idealism,  399-414 ;  of  Fichte,  40O- 

414 ;  views  intelligence  as,  405 ; 

Platonic,  origin  and  supporters 

of,  262. 


Idealistic  school  of  philosophy,  261. 
summary  of  its  progress,  338 ; 
where  originated,  270. 

Idiocy  in  Switzerland,  111. 

Idols  that  had  retarded  science,  ac- 
cording to  Bacon,  276. 

Indo-Germauic  race,  179. 

Industrial  order,  rise  of,  504;  pur- 
suits in  Gej-many,  influence  of, 
upon  social  habits  and  customs, 
123. 

Industry,  influence  upon  man  in 
society,  6. 

Infinite,  apprehension  of  by  Cousin, 
481. 

Inns  for  journeymen  in  Germany, 
119. 

Inquisition,  effect  of,  on  Spanish 
character,  86. 

Intelligence  in  Switzerland,  110. 

Intemperance  in  eating  and  drink- 
ing prohibited  by  law  in  Eng- 
land, 210. 

Italian  peninsula,  resemblance  to 
the  Spanish,  95 ;  physical  pecu- 
liarities of,  95;  diversities* of 
peoples  in,  95;  religious  influ- 
ences upon,  95;  climate  and 
productions  of,  96  ;  absolute  go- 
vernments of,  96 ;  vivacity,  97 ; 
solemnity  of  manner,  97;  beauty, 
97;  gentleman,  100;  love  of 
lounging,  101. 


Jacobi,  Frederich  Heinrich,  dates 
and  philosophy  of,  449  -  453 ;  his 
idea  of  the  understanding,  449 ; 
his  idea  of  the  reason,  450; 
merit  of,  450  ;  defends  empiri- 
cism, 452. 

James  I,  226. 

Jasmin,  Jacques,  the  last  of  the  trou- 
badours, 79. 


John,  king  of  England,  217. 
of  Salisbury,  244. 

Jotun  race,  180. 

Journeymen  in  Germany,  object  of 
the  rule,  120 ;  workmen  in  Ger- 
many, 118, 119. 

Jousts,  see  tournaments,  62. 

Jura,  character  of  its  people,  131. 

Jurisprudence  of  Norway,  174. 


Kant,  Emanuel,  dates  and  philo- 
sophy of,  383-399;  work  of, 
384;  merit  of,  385;  primary 
division  of  mental  phenomena, 
386;  three  critics  of,  386; 
modes  of  the  judgment  and 
categories  derived  from  them, 
388 ;  on  the  existence  of  God, 
393  ;  verges  on  pantheism,  393  ; 
his  philosophy  unsatisfactory, 
398 ;  great  merits  of,  399  ;  phi- 
losophies growing  out  of  his 
critical  philosophy,  399;  brief 
summary  of  his  system,  430. 

]^night  errantry,  origin,  nature  and 
strength  of,  65,  66 ;  errants, 
amorous,  how  attired,  69;  ex- 
peditions of,  why  undertaken, 
69  ;  vows  of  made  and  fulfilled, 
69  ;  extravagances  of,  69 ;  last 
of,  70;  errantry,  coeval  with 
chivalry,  69 ;  meaning  of  the 
term,  69 ;  died  out,  70. 

Knighthood,  upon  wlioni  conferred, 
58 ;  how  conferred,  57,  58 ;  age 
necessary  to,  60  ;  mode  of  con- 
ferring it,  60 ;  oaths  to  be  taken, 
61 ;  privileges  of,  61 ;  influence 
in  the  elevation  of  woman,  61, 
62  ;  influence  upon  Europe,  66 ; 
upon  society,  66 ;  upon  person- 
al purity  and  manners,  66. 


Laboring  class  in  France,  condition 
of,  135 ;  revolutionists,  135. 
in  Norway,  condition  of,  176. 

Lace  makers  among  the  Erz  moun- 
tains, see  miners,  125. 

Ladies  engaged  in  hunting  in  Eng- 
land, 217. 

Land  proprietors  in  France,  137. 

Landed  property,  the  steppmg  stone 
to  political  power,  under  feudal- 
ism, 50. 

Languedoc,  see  Provence,  73  ;  cha- 
racter of  its  people,  131. 

Lapland,  people  of,  179. 

Laplanders,  origin  of,  180 ;  appear- 
ance and  character  of,  180 ;  dress 
of,  180;  occupations  of,  180; 
huts  of,  181 ;  bed  of,  181 ;  moun- 
tain life  of,  181 ;  maritime  life 
of,  181 ;  courtship  among,  182  ; 
marriage  among,  182;  amuse* 
ments  of,  182  ;  funerals  among, 
183 ;  magic  art  of,  183. 

Laromiguiere,  dates  and  philosophy 
of,  465  ;  idea  of  the  understand- 
ing, 465 ;  as  to  the  origin  of 
ideas,  466. 

Lazzaroni  in  Naples,  102 ;  character 
of,  102;  dress  of.  103. 

Legitimists,  or  old  noblesse,  of 
France,  character  and  condition 
of,  138, 139 ;  what  and  whence, 
138;  head  of,  138. 

Leibnitz,  384;  Gottfried  William, 
dates  and  philosophy  of,  341. 

Licentiousness  in  the  age  of  chival- 
ry, 67. 

Life,  definitions  and  science  of,  in 
Comte's  philosophy,  498;  or- 
ganic, laws  of,  according  to 
Comte,  496. 

Liquors,  nature  of,  among  the  Ger- 
manic tribes,  13. 


^  ti 


i 


524 


INDEX. 


Literal u If,  choicest  specimens  of, 
where  kept  during  the  middle 
ages,  255,  25(>;  when  scattered 
throughout  Europe,  256;  effect 
of  upon  modern  philosopliy,  25G. 

Little  Russia,  population  and  dia- 
lects, 19;  character  of  its  peo- 
ple, 23. 

Living,  among  the  Englisli  barons 
in  the  15th  century,  211. 
in  Russia,  35. 

mode  of,  among  the  Germanic 
tribes,  13. 

Locke,  John,  dates  of,  293 ;  influence 
of  his  essay  on  the  liuman  un- 
derstanding, 293 ;  thoughts  upon 
which  his  system  reposes,  293 ; 
plan  of  his  system,  294 ;  method 
lie  pursued,  294 ;  philosoi)hy  of, 
293-303 ;  his  derivation  of  ideas, 
298 ;  his  idea  as  to  the  nature  of 
knowledge,  300 ;  idea  of  the 
soul,  301 ;  argument  for  the 
existence  of  the  deity,  301 ;  great 
endeavor  of,  385. 

Logic,  position  of,  in  Hegers  system, 
434;  division  of,  435;  evolution 
of,  in  its  triadical  projections  in 
Hegel's  system,  439. 

Lombard,  Peter,  244. 

Londoners  under  Henry  H,  sports 
of,  220. 

Long  parliament,  social  acts  of,  215, 

Longueville,  Duchess  de,  140. 

Lord  of  misrule,  the,  game  of,  in 
England,  228. 

Louis  XI,  shameful  exhibitions  upon 
his  entry  into  Paris,  67. 

Louis  XIII,  position  of  woman  du- 
ring his  reign,  145. 

Louis  XIV,  confirms  an  academy  of 
love,  78;  reason  of  his  long 
and  prosperous  reign,  142; 
long  reign  of,  146;  court  of, 


Louis  XIV',  continued  — 

146;  minority  of,  the  great 
period  of  womanly  intrigues, 
140;  state  of  morals  during 
his  reign,  147. 

Louis  XV,  immoralities  of  his  reign, 
139;  licentiousness  of  his  reign, 
148. 

Louis  XVI,  character  of,  149. 


Magic  art  in  Lajdand,  183. 

Malebranche,  Nicolas,  dates  and 
philosophy  ot",  325. 

Man,  modes  of  his  existence,  234. 

Manners,  equality  of,  among  all 
ranks  in  Norway,  170,  177  ;  for- 
mality of  in  England  duringthc 
lOth  century,  212. 

Markets  in  Germany,  see  fairs, 
121. 

Marriage  allowed  but  once  among 
the  Germanic  tribes,  15;  cere- 
monies of  the  Anglo-Saxons 
and  Danes  in  England,  209; 
ceremony  among  the  Germanic 
tribes,  14:  when  contracted, 
14;  in  Russia,  27;  courtship  in 
Finland,  185,  186;  among  the 
Laplanders,  182 ;  in  France,  152 ; 
relation  in  France,  how  ob- 
served, 153;  in  Spain,  88;  in 
Valencia,  expense  and  cere- 
mony, 88  ;  purity  of,  in  the  Ger- 
manic tribes,  15 ;  in  Turkey,  41 ; 
in  France,  how  brought  about, 
153;  in  Sweden,  172;  improvi- 
dent, how  checked  in  Norway, 
176. 

Married  women  in  Turkey,  position 
of,  42. 

Marseillaise  hymn,  power  of,  72. 

Marsilio  Ficino,  dales  and  school  of, 
262. 


INDEX. 


525 


4- 


Martial  spirit,  the  leading  feature  of 
the  Scandinavian,  Celtic,  and 
Germanic  races,  12. 

Masked  balls,  when  lirst  introduced, 
147. 

Masses  for  the  dead  in  Spain,  92. 

Mathematics  in  Conite's  philosophy, 
491. 

Matter,  how  considered  by  Comte, 
496. 

Matrimonial  scheming  in  Germany, 
127. 

May  day  in  Dublin,  232. 
de^v  in  Edinburgh,  232. 
games    in  England,  231 ;    and 
name  in  Ireland,  233. 

Mazarin,  Cardhial,  103. 

Men,  most  perfect  in  the  northern 
temperate  zone,  4,  5  ;  less  pow- 
erful and  constant  in  a  torrid 
zone,  5. 

Metaphysics  of  Herbart,  450. 

3Iiddle  ages,  the,  commencement, 
theology,  doctrines,  and  philo- 
sophy of,  239 ;  great  character 
and  importance  of,  238. 

Migratory  character  of  the  German- 
ic tribes,  17. 

Mind,  Hegel's  philosophy  of,  443; 
the,  nature  of  according  to 
Bacon,  283;  subjective,  essence 
and  stages  of,  according  to 
Hegel,  443 ;  objective,  or  moral 
and  political  philosophy,  ac- 
cording to  Ilegel,  444 ;  absolute, 
essence  and  forms  of,  according 
to  Hegel,  446. 

Miners,  weavers,  lace  makers,  and 
wooden  ware  manufacturers 
among  the  Erz  mountains, 
mode  of  living  of,  125. 

Minnesingers  of  Germany,  differ 
from  the  troubadours,  79. 

Minstrel,  the,  in  England,  208. 


Mistresses  in  Sweden,  170. 

Monadology,  341,  342-347. 

Monarchies,  state  of  society  in,  8. 

Monogamy,  the  universal  practice  of 
the  Germanic  tribes,  14. 

Monotheism,  488. 

Montaigne,  dates  and  skepticism  of, 
266. 

Montbazon,  castle  of,  scene  there, 
70. 
Duchess  de,  146. 

Morals,  state  of,  deplorable  beyond 
measure  during  the  reign  of 
Louis  XIV,  147. 

Morgue  of  Paris,  157. 

Music  in  Finland,  188  ;  influence  of 
among  nations,  72  ;  national  of 
Russia,  24  ;  on  the  horn  in  Rus- 
sia, 32;  power  of,  on  nations 
when  strongest,  72. 

Musicians,  appearance  and  charac- 
ter of,  84. 

BIysticism,  260;  during  the  transi- 
tion period,  267;  of  Jacobi, 
449-453;  a  reaction  against 
useless  speculations,  243  ;  where 
originated  and  supported,  270. 


Naples,  a  city  of  talkers,  101 ;  no 
riots  in,  102 ;  luxuries  in,  102 ; 
common  people  of  universally 
sober,  102 ;  Lazzaroni,  102. 

Napoleon  I,  reason  of  his  influence 
over  the  French,  142, 143 ;  re- 
creates the  nobilitj^  138. 

Napoleonic  nobility  in  France,  138. 

Nature,  Hegel's  philosophy  of,  440 ; 
triadic  divisions  of,  442. 

New  world,  discover}^  of,  255. 

Nicholas  de  Cusa,  dates  and  philo- 
sophy of,  267. 

Nine  puis,  game  of,  225. 

Ninon  de  I'Enclos,  163.    * 


526 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


527 


Nobility  of  Russia,  a  large  class,  but 
no  corporate  existence,  20 ;  posi- 
tion and  privileges  under  feu- 
dalism, 51 ;  in  Germany,  114 ; 
grades  of,  122 ;  modes  of  living, 
122  ;  in  France,  137 ;  abolished, 
137,  138;  number  guillotined, 
138 ;  recreated  by  Napoleon  I, 
138 ;  ranks  of  at  present,  138 ;  old 
rank  or  the  legitimists,  character 
and  condition  of,  138 ;  contrasted 
with  the  English,  150;  among 
the  Danes,  167 ;  in  England,  196. 

Nobles  in  Russia,  residences  and 
character  of,  22. 

Nominalism  schools  of,  established, 
240;  nature  of,  241;  conse- 
quences of,  241,  242;  revived  in 
the  14th  century,  251. 

Norman  invasion  of  England,  191  ; 
results  of,  191. 
dwellings  in  England,  198. 

Normandy,  character  of  its  inhabit- 
ants, 130. 

Normans,  character  of,  192;  dis- 
tinguished for,  209  ;  temperate 
in  eating  and  drinking,  210; 
whence  and  what,  191. 

Norway,  reasons  of  its  interesting 
character,  173 ;  country,  charac- 
ter of,  173;  early  population, 
173  ;  no  feudalism  in,  173  ;  juris- 
prudence of,  174;  classes  of 
population  in,  174  ;  no  privileged 
classes  in,  175 ;  distinctions  in, 
175;  national  dances  of,  175; 
customs  of,  175;  equality  of 
manners  among  all  ranks  in, 
176, 177 ;  condition  of  the  labor- 
ing classes  in,  176 ;  betrothals 
in,  176  ;  household  ways  in,  177  ; 
superstition  in,  178 ;  children  in, 
177 ;  women  in,  178;  Christmas 
in,  178. 


Norwegian  migration  into  England, 

191 ;  toasts,  178;  dinners,  178. 
Novum  Organum,  276. 


Obedience,  passive  in  Russia,  20; 
how  enforced,  20;  exemptions 
from,  20. 

Occam  revives  nominalism,  251 ; 
philosophy  of,  251. 

Oldenburg,  curious  custom  in,  126. 

Orleans,  duke  of,  his  regency  shame- 
lessly licentious,  148;  nobiUty 
in  Prance,  what  and  whence, 
138. 

Osman,  or  Othman,  founder  of  the 
Ottoman  Turks,  36. 


Padua,  philosophical  school  of,  264, 
265 ;  scholars  of,  265. 

Pall  Mall,  origin  of  the  name,  .223. 

Pantheism  of  Hegel,  430-449;  of 
Schelling,  414-430 ;  of  Spinoza, 
327-331. 

Pantheistic  systems  of  Amaury  de 
Chartres,  and  David  dc  Dinant, 
244. 

Paracelsus,  Theophrastus,  dates  and 
philosophy  of,  267. 

Paris,  source  of  its  preponderance  in 
France,  132 ;  unlike  the  rest  of 
France,  133 ;  beggars  in,  156 
the  centre  of  fashion,  165 
morgue  of,  157 ;  police  of,  154 
representative  of  France,  150 
systematized  vice  in,  156. 

Pastoral  Ufe  in  Switzerland,  110. 

Patriarchal  principle  of  the  east 
mingled  with  the  political  prin- 
ciples of  the  west,  19. 

Peasantry  in  France,  ignorant,  133 ; 
reserved,  134;  character  of 
134;  retain  the  customs  of  the 


•^^ 


Peasantry,  continued — 

middle  ages,  134;  indifferent 

as  to  politics,  135;  have  but 

little  influence,  135. 
in  Gennany,  unchanged  in  dress 

and  customs,  116;  reason  of, 

117. 
in   Northern  Prussia,  singular 

funeral  customs  of,  128. 
in    Russia,   endurance   of,   23; 

love  music,  26 ;  houses  of,  29 ; 

furniture  of,  29. 
of  Sweden,  position,  condition 

and  character,  171, 172. 
sea-faring  of  Norway,  174 ;  agri- 
cultural,   of   Norway,    174; 

mountain,  of  Norway,  174. 
Peasants  in  Russia,  dress  of,  28. 
Peripatetic  sensualism,  first  school 

of,  264. 
Peter  I,  imports  civilization  from 

Europe,  21. 
Philip  V,  his  will,  92. 
Philippa  of  Hainault,  queen,  211. 
Philosophy,  in  England,  194 ;  mod- 
ern, its  commencement,  255; 
task  of,  235 ;  problems  of,  236 ; 
spontaneous  stage  of,  236,  237 ; 
second  stage  of,  237;  modern, 
systematized,  237 ;  modern,  sys- 
tems of  that  are  related,  com- 
mencement of,  237;  scholastic 
periods  of,  239;  of  Wm.  de 
Champeaux,  241,  242 ;  of  Peter 
Abelard,  242;  of  Hugh  and 
Richard  St.  Victor,  243 ;  of  Peter 
Lombard,  244 ;  of  John  of  Salis- 
bury, 244 ;  of  Amaury  de  Char- 
tres, 244 ;  of  David  de  Dinant, 
244 ;  of  Bonaventura,  245 ;  of 
Thomas  Aquinas,  246 ;  of  Duns 
Scotus,  249;  of  Roger  Bacon, 
250 ;  of  Raymond  Lulli,  251 ; 
of  Occam,  251 ;  of  Gerson,  252 ; 


Philosophy,  continued  — 

of  Raymond  of  Sebonde,  252 ; 
of  Marsilio  Ficino,  262;  of 
John  Picus,  262;  of  Ramus  of 
Picardy,  262 ;  of  Giordano  Bru- 
no, 262 ;  of  Peter  Pomponatius, 
264 ;  of  Vanini,  265 ;  of  Bemado 
Telesio,  265 ;  of  Thomas  Cam- 
panella,  265;  of  Montaigne, 
266  ;  of  Nicholas  de  Cusa,  267 ;  of 
Theophrastus  Paracelsus,  267; 
of  J.  Baptist  Van  Helmont,  269 ; 
of  Jacob  Bohme,  269  ;  of  Fran- 
cis Bacon,  274-287 ;  of  Thomas 
Hobbes,  287;  of  John  Locke, 
293;  of  David  Hartley,  304; 
of  Erasmus  Darwin,  304;  of 
Etienne  de  Condillac,  305;  of 
Claude  Adrian  Helvetius,  306 ; 
of  Baron  Paul  H.  D.  Von  Hol- 
bach,  307 ;  of  Pierre  Jean  Georges 
Cabanis,  309  ;  of  Count  Destutt 
de  Tracy,  310;  of  Berkeley, 
312  ;  of  Rene  Descartes,  325 ;  of 
Malebranche,  325;  of  Spinoza, 
327;  of  David  Hume,  332;  of 
Leibnitz,  341 ;  of  Christian 
Wolf,  347 ;  -of  Thomas  Ried, 
347;  of  Thomas  Brown,  348; 
of  Sir  William  Hamilton,  347- 
368 ;  sensualistic  school  of,  261 ; 
idealistic  school  of,  261;  of 
Europe  down  to  the  15th  cen- 
tury, how  limited,  261 ;  schools 
of,  that  arose  during  the  15th 
century,  262 ;  sensualistic,  where 
originated,  270 ;  idealistic,  where 
originated,  270 ;  modern,  pre- 
parations for,  270;  commence- 
.ment  of,  270;  demands  of  the 
age  upon  it,  271;  plans  upon 
which  to  exhibit  it,  271;  by 
what  nations  developed,  272  ; 
schools  of,  272 ;  empirical ,  272 ; 


528  INDEX. 

Philosophy,  continued  — 

chart  of,  273  ;  difference  be- 
tween the  sensualistic  and  ra- 
tionaUstic  systems  of,  274;  of 
Bacon,  analytic,  275;  aphor- 
isms of,  275 ;  sensualistic  in 
France,  results  of,  310,  311 ; 
Scottish  school  of,  349  ;  table  of, 
352  ;  or  phrenology  of  Francis 
Joseph  Gall,  3G9 ;  of  Dr.  J.  G. 
Spurzheim,  370;  of  George 
Combe,  371 ;  German  school  of, 
383;  of  Kant,  383-399;  critical, 
383  ;  early,  of  Fichtc,  400-110 ; 
later,  of  Fichte,  410-414 ;  ideal- 
istic, 399-414;  of  destruction, 
periods  of,  according  to  Fichte, 
413 ;  of  Schelling,  414-430 ;  of 
Hegel,  430-449,  of  Hegel,  di- 
vision of,  434  ;  of  mind,  accord- 
ing to  Hegel,  443;  of  nature, 
according  to  Hegel,  440;  of 
mind,  according  to  Hegel,  tria- 
dical  forms  of,  447 ;  of  Jacobi, 
449-453  ;  of  Herbart,  45;3-4G3 ; 
German  school,  brief  review  of, 
463 ;  of  Peter  Paul  lloger-Col- 
lard,  4G6  ;  of  Biran,  M.  Maine 
de,  466 ;  positive  system  of, 
484-509;  of  Comte,  484;  eclec- 
tic, 465-484  ;  of  Victor  Cousin, 
467-484;  new,  demanded  by 
the  French  intellect,  465;  of 
Laromiguiere,  405 ;  positive, 
initial  conceptions  upon  which 
it  rests,  486  ;  brief  review  of, 
509-510. 

Phoenicians  in  the  Spanish  penin- 
sula, 82. 

Phrenology,  discussion  of,  369,  383  ; 
charts  and  names  of,  374,  375 ; 
explanation  of  charts  of,  376. 

Physiology  m  Comte's  philosophy, 
499. 


INDEX. 


529 


Picus,  John,  262. 

Plato,  240. 

Platonic  idealism,  origin  and  pro- 
gress of,  262. 

Plough,  the  Russian,  35. 

Poetry  in  Finland,  187. 

Police  regulations  in  Paris,  154 ; 
secret,  in  Paris,  155. 

Politeness  in  France,  151. 

Political  economy  in  England,  194; 
divisions  in  Germany,  114. 

Polygamy  in  Turkey,  42 

Polytheism,  488. 

Pompadour,  Madame  de,  148. 

Pomponitiiis,  Peter,  dates  and  phi- 
losophy of,  264. 

Portuguese,  appearance  of,  82. 

Positive  philosophy,  initial  concep- 
tions upon  which  it  rests,  486; 
five  fundamental  sciences  of 
491 ;  system  of  philosophy,  484, 
509. 

Post  horses  and  stages,  introduced 
in  England,  212. 

Priests  and  monks  hi  Russia,  num- 
ber of,  compared  with  students, 

21. 

Primogeniture,  law  of,  influence 
upon  English  character,  195 ;  not 
the  law  in  Russia,  22. 

Printing,  invention  of,  255. 

Problems  presented  to  the  philoso- 
pher, 230. 

Provenc^al  language,  the  first  to 
which  the  Latin  gave  birth,  79; 
poetry  introduced  into  Bar- 
celona and  Catalonia,  74,  75; 
into  Spain,  75;  connected  with 
chivalry,  76. 

Provence,  character  of  its  people, 
131;  courteousness  and  gal- 
lantry in,  75. 
Languedoc,  Guienne,  and  Gas- 
cony,   people,    climate    and 


Provence,  continued  — 

country,  73,  74;  chivalry  of 
their  people,  74. 
Prussia,  singular   funeral   customs 

m,  128. 
Puritans  in  England,  character  of, 
213, 214 ;  influence  of,  215 ;  Eng- 
lish, characteristics  of,  7. 


Quoits,  pitching  of,  in  England,  221. 


Ramus  of  Picardy,  dates  and  phi- 
losophy of,  262. 

Rank,  distinctions  of  in  Germany, 
122;  grades  of,  123. 

Rationalistic  philosophy  differs  from 
the  sensualistic,  274,  317  -  332. 

Raymond  of    Sebonde,  dates    and 
philosophy  of,  252. 
Lulli,  dates  and  philosophy  of, 
251. 

Realism  of  Herbart,  453-463;  na- 
ture of,  241 ;  period  of,  240 ; 
ultimate  limit  of,  reached,  242. 

Reformation,  255;  foundation  o^ 
243. 

Reid,  Thomas,  dates  and  philosophy 
of,  347. 

Religion  in  Comte's  philosophy,  508 ; 
influence  upon  society,  6,  7; 
province  of,  7. 

Religious  ceremonies  modify  society, 
7 ;  songs  of  Russia,  25. 

Republics,  state  of  society  in,  9. 

Retz,  Cardinal,  establishes  an  acade- 
my of  love,  78. 

Revolutions  in  France,  by  whom 
effected,  135 ;  not  brought  about 
by  the  peasantry,  135 ;  effect 
upon  society,  140. 

Rhine  Gau,  the  paradise  of  Germany, 
124. 

VI]  67 


Rhone  valley,  character  of  its  peo- 
ple, 131. 

Richard  II,  dress  in  England  during 
his  reign,  203. 
Coeur  de  Leon  invites  Provencal 
knights  to  his  court,  75. 

RicheUeu,  Cardinal,  145,  163. 

Roger  Bacon,  dates  and  philosophy, 
250;  the  precursor  of  Bacon, 
250. 

Roman  women,  face  and  form,  97; 
fade  early,  98. 

Romans  in  England,  190. 

Rome,  classes  of 'people  in,  104  ;  se- 
cular clergy  in,  104;  asylums, 
debtors  in,  104;  influence  o^ 
upon  the  Teutonic  nations,  43. 

Roscellin,  240. 

Russia,  social  organization  of,  19; 
the  family  in,  20;  village  or 
township,  20 ;  nation,  principles 
of  its  government,  20 ;  political 
and  social  institutions  of,  go- 
verned by  passive  obedience,  20 ; 
obedience  enforced  by  the  cud- 
gel, 20 ;  nobility  of,  exempt  from 
the  cudgel,  20;  no  esprit  du 
corps  among  the  nobility,  20; 
serfdom,  extent  and  nature  of^ 
21;  education  in,  21;  few  stu- 
dents, but  an  army  of  priests 
and  monks,  21 ;  derives  her 
strength  from  barbarism,  21; 
state  of  sodety  before  Peter  I, 
21 ;  diversity  of  society  in,  22 ; 
climates  of,  influence  upon,  22; 
civil  distinctions  ca.use  diversity 
in  society,  22  ;  castes  exist,  but 
not  in  form,  22;  nobles,  resi- 
dences and  character  of,  22 ;  pea- 
santry, endurance  o^  23;  soL 
diery,  life  and  endurance  o£^  23 ; 
character  of  the  people  of  Little 
Russia,  23 ;  variety  in  outward 


530 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


531 


Russia,  continued  — 

appearance,  24  ;  national  music 
of,  24 ;  symbolize  their  feelings 
by  external  nature,  24 ;  super- 
stitions in,  25 ;  religious  songs  of, 
25 ;  peasantry  songs,  26 ;  wo- 
men, mature  early,  26;  position 
of  woman,  26;  marriage  in,  27; 
care  of  the  dead,  27;  burial  ser- 
vice, 28 ;  celebration  of  the  re- 
surrection festival  in,  28 ;  variety 
of  costume  in,  28;  houses  of  the 
peasantry  in,  29;  furniture  of 
tlie  peasantry  in,  29  ;  villages  in, 
appearance  of,  29,  31 ;  baths  in, 
29 ;  industry  in,  30;  house  mar- 
ket, 30 ;  frozen  provisions  sold 
in,  31 ;  village  council,  31 ; 
amusements,  31, 32, 33, 34 ;  horn 
music  in,  32 ;  respect  for  old 
women  in,  34;  match-making, 
34 ;  married  women,  distinction 
in  dress,  34;  children,  how 
reared,  34 ;  clothing  in,  35 ; 
plough  in,  35 ;  mode  of  living  in, 
35 ;  Great  and  Little,  differences 
between,  23. 

Russian  empire,  extent  and  popula- 
tion, 19. 

Russians,  characteristic  traits  of,  24. 


St.  Anselm,  240. 

St.  Petersburgh,  ice  hills  in,  33. 

St.  Victor,  Hugh  of,  243. 

Richard  of,  243. 
Salon,   in    France,   character    and 

fluctuations  of,  164. 
Saracen  women  veiled,  89. 
Saxons  and  Angles  in  England,  190; 

feasting  and  merry  making  of, 

208. 
Scandinavia,  society    in,    166-189; 

variety  of  its  iwpulation,  166 ; 


Scandinavia,  continued  — 

early  character  of  its  people, 
166. 

Scandinavian,  Celtic  and  Germanic 
races,  different  branches  of  the 
same  great  fomily  of  nations,  11 ; 
war  the  leading  feature  of,  12 ; 
love  the  chase,  13 ;  addicted  to 
gaines  of  hazard,  13 ;  hospitable, 
13;  food  of,  13;  intoxicating 
liquors  of,  13;  mode  of  living,  13 ; 
buildings  of,  13 ;  clothing  of,  14 ; 
relations  of  the  sexes,  14 ;  virtue 
of  the  women,  14 ;  monogamy, 
14;  marriage  ceremony,  14; 
celibacy  disgraceful,  15;  purity 
of  the  marriage  state,  15 ;  mar- 
riage allowed  but  once,  15; 
adultery  rare,  and  severely 
punished,  16;  children,  how 
reared,  16;  hospitality  of,  16; 
daily  duties  of,  17 ;  public  spec- 
tacles, 17 ;  migratory  in  charac- 
ter, 17;  races  in  England,  190; 
dead,  what  disposition  made 
of,  17. 

Schelling,  Frederick  Wm.  Von,  dates 
and  philosophy  of,  414-430  ;  dif- 
fers from  Fichte,  414 ;  ego  of, 
415 ;  his  view  of  the  external 
world,  415 ;  idea  of  intuitions, 
416 ;  theory  of  nature  of,  418 ; 
views  entertained  by  him  vary 
at  different  periods  of  his  life, 
418  ;  his  view  of  existence,  420  ; 
chemical  process  in  his  system, 
422 ;  denies  that  nature,  acts 
with  purpose,  424  ;  revelations 
of  the  infinite,  according  to, 
425  ;  his  idea  of  man,  425  ;  idea 
of  rehgious  faith,  425 ;  denies 
creation  in  the  proper  sense  of 
the  term,  426 ;  his  theory  of 
creation,  i28  ;  his  idea  of  free- 


Schelling,  continued  — 

dom,  429  ;  his  theory  of  evil, 
429  ;  admits  no  higher  intelli- 
gence than  the  self-conscious- 
ness of  man,  430 ;  brief  summary 
of  his  system,  431. 
Scholastic  philosophy,  great  feature 
of.  238,  239 ;  its  real  life  and 
purpose,  253 ;  and  modern  phi- 
losophy, transition  period  be- 
tween, 256. 

Scholasticism,  reactions  against, 
243,  244  ;  first  period  of,  239. 

Schools  of  philosophy,  sensualistic 
or  idealistic,  dogmatical  in  cha- 
racter, 258;  ultimate  conclu- 
sions of,  259  ;  escape  from,  259. 

Science  distinguished  from  philo- 
sophy, 245. 

Sciences,  the  five  fundamental,  in 
the  positive  philosophy,  491. 

Scottish  clan  illustrates  the  exten- 
sion of  society,  10;  school  of 
philosophy,  347-383. 

Scotus,  Duns,  dates  and  philosophy 
of,  249. 

Seine,  banks  of  the,  100. 

Sensualism,  peripatetic  school  of, 
264. 

Sensualistic  philosophy,  when  ori- 
ginated, 261,  270  ;  differs  from 
the  rationalistic,  274 ;  summary 
of  its  progress,  338. 

Sequidilla  dance,  90. 

Serfdom,  abolition  of,  in  Europe,  115; 
nature  of,  115;  steps  of  its  abo- 
lition in  Germany,  115;  effects 
of  its  abolition  in  Germany,  116  ; 
in  Russia,  21. 

Serfs  in  Germany,  dwellings,  dress, 
living  and  treatment  of,  123. 

Sexes,  relation  of,  among  the  Ger- 
manic tribes,  14. 

Sheep  shearing,  feast  of,  231. 


Sicilians,  animated,  101 ;  ladies,  101 ; 

Siesta,  Spanish,  91. 

Simousiu,  character  of  its  people, 
131. 

Sisters  of  Charity  in  France,  charac- 
ter and  work  of,  156, 157. 

Skepticism,  332,  341 ;  confined  to, 
270;  modern  origin  of,  266; 
opposed  to  dogmatism,  259; 
questions  of,  259 ;  abuse  of,  260. 

Slavic  races,  society  among,  19,  36 ; 
among  the  latest  born  of  the 
European  population,  19 ;  still 
show  tlieir  Asiatic  origin,  19; 
bound  together,  and  subject  to 
Russia,  19. 

Slings  used  in  England,  220. 

Smoking  in  Turkey,  39. 

Social  life  in  Germany,  how  divided, 
118  ;  tendency  of,  151 :  charac- 
ter of,  in  France,  151 ;  instinct 
entirely  human,  9. 

Society,  nature  of,  1;  presupposes 
law,  1 :  shows  the  forces  inhe- 
rent in  human  nature,  2  ;  the 
safety  valve  of  every  age  and 
people,  2  :  sources  of,  2  ;  sphere 
of,  2,  3 ;  has  its  own  code  of 
laws,  3  ;  the  sphere  of  woman, 
4;  modified  by  climate,  4;  in- 
fluenced by  industry,  6 ;  modi- 
fied by  religion,  6,  7;  and  by 
religious  ceremonies,? ;  modified 
by  government,  8;  state  of  in 
old  monarchies,  8 ;  in  republics, 
9  ;  modified  by  art,  9  ;  its  ele- 
mentary state  in  family,  9  ;  en- 
tirely human  in  its  character,  9  ; 
extends  to  the  clan,  tribe  or 
horde,  10  ;  then  to  nations  or 
races,  10 ;  mixed,  11 ;  European 
mode  of  its  development,  11 ;  as 
it  existed  among  the  Scandina- 
vian, Celtic  and  Germanic  races, 


*-  ■ 
1 

I 

^ 


532 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


5B3 


Society,  continued  — 

11-19;  as  it  exists  among  the 
Slavic  races,  19-36 ;  in  Russia, 
19-36;  as  it  exists  among  the 
Turks,  36-43;  as  it  existed  in 
the  middle  ages,  and  under  the 
feudal  system,  43;  among  the 
Teutonic  races  as  influenced  hy 
their  settlement  in  the  Roman 
provinces,  43,  44;  under  the 
feudal  system,  45-55;  as  it  ex- 
isted in  the  age  of  chivalry,  55- 
72 ;  as  it  existed  in  the  age  of 
the  troubadours,  72-80 ;  in  the 
Spanish  peninsula,  80-95;  in 
the  Italian  peninsula,  95-106 ; 
in  Florence,  101 ;  in  Naples,  101 ; 
in  Switzerland,  106-111 ;  among 
the  German  nations,  111-130; 
in  Germany  but  little  effected 
by  the  abolition  of  serfdom,  116 ; 
in  France,  130-166  ;  in  France 
effect  of  the  French  revolution 
upon,  140 ;  in  France  affected 
by  the  French  revolution,  149 ; 
among  the  Scandinavian  na- 
tions, 166-189  ;  in  France  took 
its  hue  and  coloring  from,  144; 
bane  of,  144 ;  in  the  British 
isles,  189 ;  governed  by  what, 
189 ;  barrier  to,  189. 

Sociology  in  Comte's  philosophy, 
500. 

Soldiery  in  Russia,  living  and  endur- 
ance of,  23. 

Song  of  the  Russian  robber,  24. 

Sorcery,  charge  of,  against  the  Duch- 
ess of  Gloucester,  212. 

Soul»  the,  nature  of  according  to 
Bacon,  283. 

Spain,  schools  of,  244;  the  ruling 
power  in  Europe,  85 ;  evil  effect 
of  its  arbitrary  government,  and 
inquisition,  86. 


Spaniard,  general  appearance  and 
character,  85. 

Spanish  character  different  in  the 
different  provinces,  84;  causes 
of,  84 ;  some  approximation  to- 
wards unity  in,  85  ;  obstacles  to 
unity  in,  85 ;  reserved,  86 ;  slow- 
ness of,  86 ;  naturally  gay,  lively, 
and  energetic,  87  ;  fandango,  90 ; 
fondness  for  the  dance,  90; 
gallants,  89 ;  ladies'  features  and 
forms,  87  ;  character  of,  88 ;  ma- 
ture early,  88 ;  marry  early,  88 ; 
position  of  after  marriage,  89 ; 
ladies,  occupations  of,  89  ;  pen- 
insula, physical  peculiarities  of, 
81 ;  different  peoples  of,  81,  82 ; 
repasts,  called  tertulias  and 
refrescos,  91 ;  soldiers,  bravery, 
etc.,  87. 

Spear  or  javelin,  throwing  of  in 
England,  220. 

Spectacles,  pubHc,  among  the  Ger- 
manic tribes,  17. 

Spinning  circle  in  Germany,  126. 

Spinoza,  Baruch  or  Benedict,  dates 
and  philosophy  of,  327. 

Sports  of  the  English  people,  216- 
234. 

Spurzheim,  Dr.  J.  G.,  dates  and  phi- 
losophy, or  phrenology  of,  370. 

Starost,  power  of,  absolute,  20. 

Succession,  the  law  of,  among  the 
ancient  Britons,  208. 

Sueves  invade  and  settle  in  the 
Spanish  peninsula,  82. 

Suicides  in  France,  158. 

Sully,  145. 

Sunday  and  holiday  dance  in  Russia, 
32. 

Superstitions  of  the  Anglo-Saxons, 
209 ;  of  the  French  peasantry, 
134  ;  in  Germany,  123  ;  of  Nor- 
w^ay,  178 ;  in  Russia,  25. 


Sweden,  nature  of  its  country,  169 ; 
population  of,  169  ;  amusements 
in,  169 ;  merchants  in,  169  ;  no- 
bility in,  169 ;  woman  in,  170 ; 
education  in,  171 ;  court  of,  171 ; 
peasantry  in,  171 ;  marriages  in, 
172. 

Swedes,  dinner  parties  of,  171; 
amusements  of,  169;  games  of 
hazard,  170 ;  ladies,  appearance, 
character,  etc.,  170. 

Swedish  court,  formal,  171. 

Swimming  in  England,  221. 

Swing,  the,  in  Russia,  33. 

Swiss  trials  in  firing  at  a  mark,  107 ; 
character  displayed  among  the 
Alps,  108 ;  customs  in  some  lo- 
calities very  ancient,  108 ;  shep- 
herds and  husbandmen,  108 ; 
character  and  appearance,  109. 

Switzerland,  primitive  inhabitants 
of,  106 ;  but  little  taste  for  society 
in,  109 ;  manners,  their  simple, 
109 ;  diversity  of  physiognomies, 
109;  domestic  happiness  and 
virtues  strong,  109  ;  education 
in,  110 ;  invincible  spirit  of  free- 
dom, 110 ;  games  of  chance  pro- 
hibited, 110  ;  amusements,  110  ; 
cleanlhiess  in  house  and  person, 
110;  preserves  simplicity  of  the 
pastoral  life,  110;  equality  in 
politics  and  condition,  110 ; 
houses,  nature  of,  110  ;  no  nota- 
ries or  attorneys  in  some  parts 
of,  110;  idiocy  and  goitre  in, 
111. 


Taxation  in  Germany,  cause  and 
effects,  116,  117. 

Telesio,  Bcrnado,  dates  and  philoso- 
phy of,  265. 

Tessin,  canton  of,  people,  107. 


Testimony  in  a  court  of  justice  in 
Brunswick,  truthfulness  of,  121. 

Teutonic  nations  influenced  by  set- 
tlement in  Roman  provinces,  43 ; 
by  intermixture,  43 ;  by  conver- 
sion, 43;  in  industry,  44;  race 
in  France,  132. 

Thanes,  the,  in  England,  entertain- 
ments of,  208. 

Theatre  in  France,  mission  of,  160 
influence  of  upon  morals,  bad 
161 ;  direction  of,  161 ;  receives 
support  from  the  government, 
162 ;  claquery  in,  162. 

Thinking,  fundamental  law  of,  ac- 
cording to  Fichte,  405. 

Thomas  Aquinas,  dates  and  philo- 
sophy of,  246;  demonstration 
of  the  existence  of  God,  247. 

Thuringians,  character  of,  126. 

Tournaments,  resemble  the  Olympic 
games  of  Greece,  62;  differed 
from  jousts,  63;  description  of, 
63;  manner  of  awarding  and 
bestowing  prizes,  etc.,  64;  died 
out,  70;  continued  in  Sweden, 
70;  annual  exhibition  of  at 
Drottningholm,  Sweden,  71 ; 
beneficial  result  of,  71. 

Tracy,  Count  Destutt  de,  dates  and 
philosophy  of,  310. 

Transition  between  mediaeval  and 
modern  times  found  in  Cerdagne 
and  Roussillon,  80;  period 
between  the  scholastic  and 
modern  philosophy,  256 ;  pro- 
cesses of,  256. 

Tribunals,  or  courts  of  love,  when 
originated,  76  ;  contributions  to, 
76;  where  held,  76;  construc- 
tion of,  77  ;  questions  discussed, 
77;  culmination  of,  77;  influ- 
ence upon  society,  78;  cessa- 
tion of,  78. 


634 


INDEX. 


INDEX. 


535 


Troubadours,  age  of,  73 ;  derivation 
of  the  name,  73 ;  home  of,  73  ; 
period  of,  73  ;  die  out,  79  ;  songs 
of,  revived  in  our  time,  79. 

Trouveres  in  Normandy,  78 ;  period 
of,  78  ;  how  known  in  England, 
78 ;  the  epic  poets  of  France,  78. 

Turkey,  necessary  to  the  peace  of 
Europe,  37;  climate  and  soil, 
37  ;  art  of  bathing  in,  38 ;  dres-5 
in,  38;  ablutions  in,  39;  smok- 
ing in,  39 ;  use  of  opium  in, 
39;  houses  in,  40;  dinner  how 
served  in,  40 ;  difference  in  cus- 
toms between  Turkey  and  Eu- 
rope, 40,  41 ;  marriages  in,  41 ; 
polygamy  in,  42;  wife,  duties, 
and  privileges  of,  42 ;  married 
women  position  of,  42. 

Turkish  dominion  in  Europe,  pre- 
sents the  introduction  of  Asia 
into  Europe,  36. 

Turks,  the,  external  appearance  of, 
37  ;  houses  of,  37 ;  food  of,  38  ; 
drink  of,  38 ;  dress  of,  38 ;  earthly 
paradise  of,  39;  ablutions  of, 
39;  smoking  of,  39;  contradic- 
tions in  character  and  customs 
of,  40;  origin  of,  36;  solemnity 
of  by  day,  42;  hilarity  of  l)y 
night,  42. 


Valencians,  character  of,  84. 

Vandals  invade  the  Spanish  penin- 
sula, 82. 

Van  Helmont,  J.  Baptist,  dates  and 
philosophy  of,  269. 

Vanini,  dates  and  reasoning  of,  205 

Veneration  for  the  past,  the  result 
of  feudalism,  52 ;  its  good  and 
evil  results,  52,  53. 

Venetians,  lively,  99 ;  appearance, 
99  ;  women,  99 ;   fondness  for 


Venetians,  continued  — 

theatricals  and  amusements,  99  ; 
carnival,  99  ;  ladies,  position  of, 
99  ;  courtesans  sold  in  infancy, 
99. 

Venice,  the  city  in  the  sea,  98  ;  cere- 
mony of  Ascension  day  at,  98 ; 
doge  of,  married  to  the  Adriatic, 
98. 

Vice,  systematized  in  Paris,  156. 

Vikiugs,  the,  consisted  of,  12  ;  occu- 
pations, amusements,  etc.,  12. 

Village  council  in  Russia,  31 ;  or 
township  in  Russia,  govern- 
ment, etc.,  of,  20. 

Villages  in  Russia,  appearance  of, 
29,  31. 

Vine  culture  in  Germany,  123, 124. 

Vine3^ards  in  Germany,  123. 

Vintage  in  Germany,  season  and 
manner,  124. 

Visigoths  invade  and  rule  in  the 
Si)auish  peninsula,  82. 

Vosges,  character  of  its  people,  131. 


Wakes  in  England,  229. 

Walloon  romance,  mother  of 
the  modern  French  language, 
where  nourished,  73  ;  when,  73. 

Warwick,  Neville,  earl  of,  212. 

Weavers  among  the  Erz  mountains, 
see  miners,  125. 

Welchman,  220. 

AVestphalia  and  Oldenburg,  custom 
in,  126. 

White  Russia,  dialects,  19. 

Whitsuntide  in  Germany,  festivities 
of,  128. 

William  de  Champeaux,  241, 242. 

Window  glass,  Avhen  introduced 
into  England,  198. 

Wine,  mode  of  making  it  in  Ger- 
many, 124, 125. 


Wolf,  Christian,  dates  and  philoso- 
phy of,  347. 

Woman,  her  influence  on  civiliza- 
tion, 4  ;  position  of  in  the  Ger- 
manic tribes,  15;  in  Russia, 
early  maturity,  26 ;  dress  of,  in 
Russia,  29 ;  premature  decay, 
26 ;  use  paint  and  rouge  immo- 
derately, 26 ;  savage  treatment 
of,  by  the  husband,  26 ;  condi- 
tion of,  26  ;  duty  and  elevation 
of,  under  the  feudal  system,  49 ; 
elevation  and  position  of  in  the 
age  of  chivalry,  61-63  ;  in  Ger- 
many superior,  but  not  a  divi- 
nity as  in  Provence,  79  ;  posi- 
tion of  in  Italy,  99, 100 ;  position 
of  in  France,  144 ;  her  position 
in  France  during  the  reign  of 
Henry  IV,  145 ;  during  the 
reign  of  Louis  XIII,  145  ;  posi- 
tion of  in  France,  during  the 
times  of  the  Fronde,  146 ;  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Louis  XIV,  147 ; 
depravity  of  during  the  reign  of 
*  Louis  XV,  148, 149  ;  part  played 


Woman,  continued  — 

by,  in  politics  in  France,  162 ; 
empire  of  in  France,  163  ;  re- 
tains her  youth  in  France,  164  ; 
conversational  powers  of,  164  ; 
in  Sweden,  170. 

Women,    Germanic,  virtue  of,  14 ; 
old,  respected  in    Russia,    34; 
negotiate  marriages,  34 ;  married 
easily  known,  34;  careful,  34 
in  Germany,  field  work  of,  121 
as  intriguantes  in  France,  145 
in  Norway,  178. 

Wooden  ware  manufacturers  among 
the  Erz  mountains,  see  miners, 
125. 

Wrestling  in  Russia,  33 ;  in  England, 
221. 

Wyckliffe,211. 

Wykeham,  211. 


Young,  the,  early  training  of,  in 
France,  152 ;  in  Germany,  given 
to  amusements,  126. 


L 


\ 


\ 


N. 


rip 


% 


^ 


COLUMBIA  UNrVEHSITY 


0032026137 


* 


%% 


M 
III 


i\ 


